WW	■
iiiiiiii	n

Date Due

'''Ut-tr^"^n^

^^hl'I

"^d^r-^

N01FIV1I45

DEC S 11)52

U..V

WOV 0 5

19B7

APR (

3 20U/

Remington Rand In:. Cat. no. 1159

TCHAIKOVSKY HIS LIFE AND WORKS

E. liieber. Ho/photograiih, Berlin.

Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky

Froiitispiece.

TCHAIKOVSKY

HIS LIFE AND WORKS, WITH EXTRACTS FROM HIS WRITINGS, AND THE DIARY OF HIS TOUR ABROAD IN

BY

ROSA NEWMARCH

LONDON GRANT RICHARDS

1900

\4U34U

Printtd by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh

TO ,

HENRY J. WOOD

WHO HAS HELPED TO REALISE

SO MANY OF Tchaikovsky's masterpieces AND TO HIS WIFE

Preface

Six years have now elapsed since Tchaikovsky's death, and as yet no really adequate biography has appeared, either in Russia or abroad. The authorised Life and Letters has long been expected in vain. Probably the difficulty of selecting from such a vast mass of correspondence — Tchaikovsky's letters are said to be numbered by thousands — is the chief reason for the delay in publication. Meanwhile the public interest, especially in England, is steadily increasing, and almost every scrap of information concerning the composer of " The Pathetic " Sym- phony is eagerly sought after. In the absence of anything more complete and authoritative I venture to offer this volume to the admirers of Tchaikov- sky's works.

In 1897 I published in The Musician a. seriQS of papers upon Tchaikovsky based upon a little volume of personal reminiscences by M. N. Kashkin,^ one

^ Reminiscences of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky^ by N. Kashkin, Moscow, 1897 (P. Jurgenson).

viii Tchaikovsky

of the Professors of the Moscow Conservatoire, and a friend and colleague of the composer. These papers, which I have been repeatedly asked to re- print, form the first part of the present volume. They have been almost entirely rewritten, and supplemented by a considerable amount of new information derived from other and more recent sources.

In 1898 appeared The Collected Writings of Tchaikovsky^ edited, with a preface, by the well- known Russian critic G. Laroche. From this book I made a collection of extracts showing the composer's musical tastes and sympathies, and these papers appeared in the Musical Standard under the title, " Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic." The fact that they were very well noticed in several Russian papers, notably the Moscow Viedomosti, induced me to re- print them here, with two additional chapters dealing with Tchaikovsky's attitude towards Russian music. Later on, at the suggestion of Mr. C. A. Barry, I undertook to translate the diary of Tchaikovsky's tour abroad in 1888, now published for the first time in English. And so the book grew to its present size.

No one can be more conscious than myself of its shortcomings, and of the patchy nature of its con- struction. If it has not been altogether a case of

Preface

IX

making bricks without straw, at least the straw has been scattered on the four winds of journaHsm and has had to be gathered up in the by-ways of Russian musical literature.

My thanks are due to the editors of The Musi- cian and the Musical Standard for their courteous permission to reprint such matter as has already appeared in those papers. I must also express my gratitude to M. Kashkin and M. Laroche, from whose works I have quoted freely ; and particularly to M. Berezovsky, whose excellent article on Tchaikovsky contains invaluable information. To the composer's brother, M. Modeste Tchaikovsky, 1 am indebted for permission to republish the Diary of 1888 ; while M. P. Jurgenson has kindly supplied me with the facsimile from the score of the Overture 1812. Last, but not least, I have to thank M. Vladimir Stassov, whose ready help and sympathy first enabled me to undertake the study of Russian art.

TCHAIKOVSKY

Among the leaders of the New School of music in Russia ^Tchaikovsky occupies an exceptional place, as one who, while strongly attracted by the forward movements of his time, was restrained by his special training from acknowledging complete allegiance to the nationalist party. His character was essentially Russian, and his tendencies the liberating tendencies of the generation to which he belonged ; but his musical education was cosmopolitan, and the teachers whom he most reverenced leaned towards tradition ^ and authority. He was not, like Glinka, or, in a less degree, like Rimsky - Korsakov, consecrated to the service of nationality. In his heart a follower of Liszt, in his intellectual conscience an adherent of Classicism, Tchaikovsky composed under the sway of two conflicting influences, neither of which was strong enough to efl!^ace for long his own intense personality^ Thus throughout his work we find a lack of unity which baflles dogmatic criticism, and compels us to seek in the character of the man, rather than in his

2 Tchaikovsky

theories, the interpretation of all he has expressed in music. This susceptibility to the antagonistic currents of thought and feeling which surrounded him is not altogether a fault in Tchaikovsky. On the contrary, it has lent to his music qualities of pliancy, variety, and eclecticism which have proved sources of charm and attraction. It distinguishes him from most of his contemporaries, and places him in the sharpest contrast alike to Wagner, whose militant energies forced a new channel of their own, and to Brahms, whose work was mainly accomplished under the influence of a single dominant idea

that Freedom slowly broadens down From precedent to precedent.

Even if we admit that this division of thought and emotion is a source of weakness in Tchaikovsky, we must also acknowledge that it has its element of popularity. At a time when the entire world of art is divided upon questions of law and liberty, this subjective confession of unsettled faith and dual allegiance puts him in closer touch with his own generation, though it may weaken his hold upon succeeding ones.

Another source alike of weakness and popularity in Tchaikovsky's music is his sympathy with the , maladie du siecle ; his command of every note in the v » gamut of melancholy. " A poet of one mood in all his lays," his monotony of pessimism, though it must at times weary the sane -minded individual, seems to engage the public and draw them to him most

His Life and Works 3

persistently in his moods of blackest despair. In this respect, foreigners consider his music typically Russian ; a view not entirely just to Russian art as a whole, which is far too vigorous and healthy a growth to remain continuously under the sway of one emotional influence. Nor is Tchaikovsky's melancholy of that particular type which we associate with the Russian character : that sober, grey-tinted, resigned pessimism which is a part of the Russian nature rather than a mood, and is best exemplified in the poems of Nekrasov. Tchaikovsky's emotional and romantic despair seems to belong to other times and other lands. It echoes Chateaubriand and Byron, not Gogol and Tourgeniev.

To say that Tchaikovsky is the most accessible and the best known among Russian composers is by no means to say that he is the greatest. Unlike the majority of the school to which he — in part — belongs, he did not in his lifetime disdain popularity, and has reaped his reward in a wider fame and a stronger sway over the public taste. Setting aside his natural dislike of public appearances, he was the first of the Russians to travel in his own goods, if I may use so commercial a simile. Partly for this reason, and partly because his music possesses in the highest degree those qualities of highly-wrought emotion and brilliant workmanship which are always the first to awaken a sympathetic echo, he has made a greater impression than any of his compatriots. It is the fashion to praise Tchaikovsky for having cast aside so much of his national peculiarities as impeded his

4 Tchaikovsky

progress towards the goal of fame. This action was not so much a matter of conviction as of tempera- ment and the circumstances of his education. It was easier for him to drop the Slav than for many of his fellow-workers. Fortunately, too, he could not altogether get rid of that imperishable fibre of race to which he owes so much that is interesting and original. There are few compensations for the sale of our birthright. Nationality in art may have its narrow- ing results, but the lasting influences in music, as in literature, have never been effected by the depayses.

I do not deny that Tchaikovsky possesses many of the virtues of a master artist, but we shall miss much if we let our appreciation of Russian music stop short at his works alone. In each member of the group which he partially represents, there is some individual charm or gift, some concentration of artistic purpose to a definite aim, in the highest degree interesting to the student. The wisest will let Tchaikovsky's achievement — with which we are beginning to be familiar — serve as an elucidation of the great national movement which lay behind it, and as an introduction to the music — less stirring perhaps, but not less worthy — of his immediate predecessors.

1

Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky was born 7th May 1 840, at Votinsk, in the government of Viatka. His father

His Life and Works 5

was employed there as a mining engineer, but later on he moved to St. Petersburg, where he was appointed Director of the Technological Institute. The boy- was educated at the School of Jurisprudence, and after- wards obtained a post in the Ministry of Justice.

Like most of the Russian composers, Tchaikovsky began his musical career as an amateur. Launched upon the society of the capital as an average youth of fashion, his musical gifts won him considerable popularity. At evening parties he shone in such pieces as Dohler's Nocturne in D flat and Weber's Invitation a la Valse ; but he had higher ideals than these. The atmosphere of the School of Jurisprudence was decidedly musical, thanks to the influence of its patron Prince Oldenburgsky. Tchaikovsky's most intimate school friend was the future author Apukhtin, a young man of cultivated and artistic tastes, who was passionately fond of Italian music. The two friends spent their free evenings at the opera, and most of their leisure moments in discussing their favourite art. Apukhtin refers to this in one of his poems, dedicated to Tchaikovsky : —

Do you remember how you used to drown Your soul in art, forget this world of men ? And how we dreamt of some ideal renown, For Music was our worshipped idol then, And Life a fleeting dream to us . . .

But in spite of this enthusiasm for music, it is doubtful if Tchaikovsky had any serious thoughts of it as a profession when first he took up his duties in the

6 Tchaikovsky

Ministry of Justice. It would certainly have been considered infra dig. in the official circles in which he moved, besides which, it was imperative that he should begin to earn a livelihood as soon as possible. A trifling circumstance first started him upon the path that was destined eventually to become a triumphal way. Tchaikovsky had a cousin in the Mounted Grenadiers, who was also an amateur per- former and a friendly rival at social evenings. One day, having met at the house of a mutual friend, they began to discuss musical questions. " Among other things," to relate the story in Tchaikovsky's own words, "my cousin said it was possible to modulate from one key to another without using more than three chords. This excited my curiosity, and to my astonishment I found that he improvised whatever modulations I suggested, even from quite extraneous keys." Tchaikovsky was piqued by this show of superior knowledge. " I asked him where he picked this up, and discovered that there were classes in connection with the Musical Society where one might learn all this wisdom."

Tchaikovsky lost no time in joining these classes, which were held at the Michailovsky Palace ; but, says Kashkin, he showed so little inclination for serious work that he was at first regarded as an incorrigible dilettante. Nevertheless, about this time he began to feel a strong impulse towards music as a vocation. But besides the question of means, he was lacking in self-confidence. In December 1861, he wrote to his sister : "I told you I was studying the theory of

His Life and Works 7

music with considerable success. It is generally- agreed that with my uncommon talents (I hope you will not take this for mere boasting) it would be a pity not to try my luck in this career. I am only afraid of a want of purpose ; perhaps idleness may- take possession of me and I may not persevere. You know I have power and capacity, but I am ailing with your malady, which is called ' fragmentariness,' and if I do not become enthusiastic over a thing I am easily done for."

For some months Tchaikovsky remained in this vacillating frame of mind. Without actually throw- ing over his official duties he entered the Conserva- toire, and was placed under Zaremba in the class for counterpoint.

'lAnton Rubinstein often attended the harmony classes at the Conservatoire to examine the work of the students. Struck by the ability, and also by the carelessness, of Tchaikovsky's exercises, he called him aside after class, and spoke to him with such combined charm and severity that the Laodicean mood vanished for ever. Rubinstein's appeal irrevocably decided Tchaikovsky's destiny, and henceforward he cherished an adoration for the man who had pointed out his true vocation. ' He now resigned his official appoint- ment, withdrew from fashionable society, and devoted himself entirely to the study of music. It is recorded of Ilia Muromets — that popular hero of Russian folk- lore— that he sat out the first thirty years of his life in complete inactivity. Once roused from his lethargy, however, his strength was as the strength of ten, and

8 Tchaikovsky

his deeds of prowess unparalleled. Tchaikovsky might have taken this old hero for his model, he now proved himself so full of unsuspected energy and ambition.

"Tchaikovsky worked in an astonishing way," said Rubinstein, speaking of his pupil to Kashkin in later years. " Once, at the composition class, I set him to write out contrapuntal variations on a given theme, and I mentioned that in this class of work not only quality but quantity was of importance. 1 thought perhaps he would write about a dozen variations. But not at all. At the next class I received over two hundred. To examine all 'these," Rubinstein concluded, with a bland smile, " would have taken me more time than it took him to write them." Tchaikovsky, on leaving the Conservatoire some three years later, received a silver medal for his diploma work — a cantata for solo, chorus, and orchestra, the text from Schiller's Ode to Joy. With regard to this work, it is interesting to know that the composer himself did not look upon it by any means as a weak or immature effort, and would gladly have seen it published, or at least re-performed.

In 1863 Tchaikovsky began to study orchestra- tion in Rubinstein's class. Rubinstein, as a com- poser, wrote only for the modern orchestra, while retaining at the same time the greatest reverence for the works of the old classical writers. He impressed these views upon his pupil, and made him adopt the habit of thinking and writing in the language of the modern orchestra from the beginning of his career.

His Life and Works 9

Besides the piano, Tchaikovsky studied the flute and the organ. Rubinstein helped him to earn a living by recommending him as a teacher and accompanist. In the latter capacity he frequently attended the musical evenings of the Grand Duchess Helena Paulovna. At the Conservatoire he became intimate with his fellow-student Laroche, who exercised an important influence upon his future life.

Tchaikovsky now came to be regarded, both by masters and students, as a young man of very great promise. In 1864-65, Laroche — who afterwards became one of the foremost musical critics in Russia — wrote to Kashkin in Moscow of Tchaikovsky's excellent qualities, and pointed him out as " the future star of Russian music." Since 1863 harmony classes had been held in Moscow in connection with a branch of the Russian Musical Society, under the management of Nicholas Rubinstein. Rubinstein had neither time nor incHnation to devote himself to the teaching of theory, and in view of the opening of the Moscow Conservatoire, in 1866, it was thought necessary to engage a special teacher of these subjects. The choice of a good man was limited in those days, and Nicholas Rubinstein offered the post to Serov. Serov accepted, but immediately afterwards the success of his opera Rogneda^ in St. Petersburg, made him unwilling to leave the modern capital for the less stirring atmosphere of Moscow. Rubinstein then resolved to engage the services of one of the first students who should qualify satisfactorily at the December examinations of the St. Petersburg

lo Tchaikovsky

Conservatoire. Kashkin, on hearing of this, showed Laroche's letter to Nicholas Rubinstein, and thus Tchaikovsky was marked out as a suitable applicant. Rubinstein, having subsequently interviewed the young composer in St. Petersburg, was so favour- ably impressed that he determined to appoint him to the post, disregarding even the advice of Zaremba, who recommended a more mature candidate.

Tchaikovsky entered upon his duties in Moscow early in January 1866. The funds of the Musical Society were not then in a flourishing condition, and the expenses of the classes were kept as low as possible. Tchaikovsky, as teacher of harmony, was to receive fifty roubles — about 0i : 5 s. — per month until the opening of the Conservatoire. He would have found some difficulty in living upon this extremely modest salary if Nicholas Rubinstein had not suggested to him to take up his quarters in his own flat, where he had already one inmate in the person of the violinist Shradik. "In external ap- pearance," says Kashkin, " Tchaikovsky produced a very favourable appearance, but the same cannot be said as to his dress. He wore a very old fur pelisse which had been lent him by a friend, and the rest of his costume harmonised with this ancient shuhay Nicholas Rubinstein, who thought the young pro- fessor would be none the worse for a new frock-coat, was on the point of offering him credit at his own tailor's, when he remembered that Wieniawsky — who always stayed with him on his visits to Moscow — had, on the last occasion, left behind him a nearly

His Life and Works ii

new frock-coat. It was fully a year since the virtuoso had departed, and, according to Russian custom, the coat belonged to the master of the house, who pre- sented it, therefore, to Tchaikovsky. It was a very bad fit, but Tchaikovsky did not trouble about that, and wore it, " with as much proud dignity as though it had been bought at the best tailor's in the town."

Kashkin was soon on terms of intimate friendship with his young colleague. Tchaikovsky might easily have become as great a social favourite in Moscow as he had been in St. Petersburg, but he did not care much for society, and preferred to spend his evenings quietly with Kashkin, or his friend Jurgenson, the publisher. He also frequented the Little Theatre, where the plays of Ostrovsky were the great attraction of the day. An interesting feature of Moscow life at that time was the Artists' Club, founded by Nicholas Rubinstein, Ostrovsky, and Count Odoievsky. Here the members often met to listen to the reading of some new literary work. Musical evenings were constantly organised, and every renowned virtuoso who passed through Moscow was certain to be heard at the Artists' Club. Ladies were admitted, and dances held, at which the dance- music was provided by such artists as Nicholas Rubinstein and Wieniawsky. At this club Tchai- kovsky met Ostrovsky, one of the most celebrated writers of his day, who treated him with the greatest kindness, and afterwards generously provided him with the libretto of his first opera. The Voievoda. The earliest idols of Tchaikovsky's musical cult were

1 2 Tchaikovsky

Glinka and Mozart, and he had a great veneration for the works of Beethoven. Schumann's fiery impulse and dreamy sentimentalism had a great attraction for him, and he inclined more to his music than to that of Chopin, in whom he found a note of invalidishness and a superfluity of subjective senti- ment that somewhat repelled him. He greatly modified this opinion, however, after he had heard the works of Chopin interpreted by Nicholas Rubinstein. Tchaikovsky was well read in the literature of his own country, and his favourite authors were Ostrovsky and Tolstoi. He spoke French fluently, but of the German language and literature he knew very little in his younger days. Like most Russians, he was acquainted with Dickens and Thackeray through the medium of translations, but it was not until the last years of his life that he knew any English. Kashkin says that Tchaikovsky valued the morning hours for writing, and only under great pressure of work employed his evenings in composition. He would spend many hours reading music for four hands. His favourite relaxation was the game of Teralash (a Russian form of whist). He was too absent-minded to become a good player, but bore the rebukes of irritable partners with the patient good-humour that seems always to have been his characteristic. " Tchaikovsky never defended himself when attacked, or began a quarrel," says Kashkin.

Tchaikovsky started his harmony class upon the system of his master Zaremba. Afterwards he

His Life and Works 13

became more independent in his methods, and laid great stress on the value of thorough-bass ; half his harmony course consisted of exercises in this subject. He never considered himself a good teacher, and took up the work more from necessity than inclina- tion. But his scrupulous accuracy, business - like habits, and wonderful memory for musical examples, made him a more valuable teacher than he himself believed. Shortly after his arrival in Moscow, Nicholas Rubinstein suggested to him to write some- thing for performance at one of the concerts of the Musical Society. Rubinstein — who during two- thirds of the year taught for nearly nine hours a day — was very rarely at home, and saw next to nothing of the two young men who shared his rooms. They were not, however, very quiet quarters, for a series of pianoforte classes was held there, and this music, mingled with the strains of Shradik's fiddle, were very distracting to the young composer. He was driven to take refuge in a neighbouring inn which, though it was a favourite haunt of the University students, was generally deserted in the morning hours. In the comparatively peaceful atmosphere of " The Great Britain " Tchaikovsky worked out most of his earlier compositions. The new work — a Concert Overture in C minor — was duly finished and submitted to Rubinstein for approval.

The composer, however, was destined to meet with the first of a series of bitter disappointments. Nicholas Rubinstein was not favourably impressed by the work, and all idea of its performance came to an

14 Tchaikovsky

end. Tchaikovsky was hurt by what seemed to him the captious quality of Rubinstein's criticisms, but he showed no resentment. The time was too short to allow of his preparing another work, and the Concert Overture in F major^ for small orchestra, written in St. Petersburg, took the place of the rejected com- position. Here again Rubinstein demurred, and insisted upon the overture being re-scored for full orchestra, a proceeding which, according to Laroche, quite spoilt its unity of character. It was heard on 4th March 1866, at Rubinstein's benefit concert, and though it did not have an extraordinary success, it attracted the attention of musicians to its composer. " He was thirsting for support and encouragement," writes Kashkin, " but at that time he hardly found one or the other." For the rest of the winter Tchaikovsky composed very little, but he planned the sketch of his first symphonic poem, Winter Day Dreams {Zimnia Grozi).

The next event of importance in his life was the opening of the Moscow Conservatoire in the autumn of 1866. After an imposing ceremony, a banquet was given, at which the directors of the institution and the members of the teaching staff were present. Tchaikovsky, in spite of constitutional shyness, was a good speaker, and in an effective speech he proposed the prosperity of the sister Conservatoire of St. Petersburg. The banquet was followed by music, and Tchaikovsky, who was resolved that the first music heard in the hall of the Conservatoire should be Glinka's, opened the impromptu concert by

His Life and Works 15

playing the Overture to Russian and Ludmilla from memory. He would have been well received, if only from patriotic sentiments, but his technique and artistic feeling were of a quality to command atten- tion in themselves. Nicholas Rubinstein now moved into rooms adjoining the Conservatoire, and Tchaikovsky went with him. A few months later they were joined by Laroche, who had been appointed to the Conservatoire. The presence of Laroche did much towards reconciling Tchaikovsky to life in Moscow ; for though, eventually, he grew very fond of the ancient town atmosphere, during the first years of his existence there he was always regretting St. Petersburg, with its modern and more progressive musical life.

During the autumn of 1866 he was chiefly occupied upon his symphonic poem. Winter Bay Dreams. With regard to his method of work I will quote the words of his friend Kashkin:— ** Tchaikovsky has not infrequently been accused of excessive haste and negligence in his work. On what ground such an accusation is founded I do not know ; for, from the beginning to the end of his career, he finished his compositions with great care, and absolutely without haste. If his works were written in an unbroken series, this can be explained simply by his industry. Every day he spent some hours in composing, and the disinclination for work was unknown to him, at least in the morning. Un- known to him, too, was the usual Russian * some day or other ' which has stolen time from so many of us.

1 6 Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky had the immense advantage of superior discipline in his work. Perhaps he owed this to his first governess, a French lady, whose name I forget. She lived until recently in some little town in the south of France, and cherished the memory of her pupil. If I am not mistaken, he visited her a year, or less, before his death. When he told me of this visit he was evidently much touched. With all the vehemence and impressibility of his nature, Tchai- kovsky was the personification of order and accuracy, especially in his work ; and he always appreciated the value of time. When first he came to live in Moscow, although he was then six-and-twenty, he was still inexperienced and young in many things, especi- ally in the material questions of life ; but in all that concerned his work he was already mature, with a particularly elaborate method of work, in which all was foreseen with admirable judgment, and mani- pulated with the exactitude of the surgeon in operat- ing. This knowledge saved him much time, and permitted him to work with what seemed to others an inconceivable rapidity."

As soon as the symphonic poem, Winter Day Dreams^ was finished, Tchaikovsky started for St. Petersburg, to show the new work to his old masters, Zaremba and Anton Rubinstein. He still valued the musical appreciation of St. Petersburg far above that of Moscow, and it was his ambition to have the symphony produced at a concert of the Musical Society in that city. He was full of hope, and confident of approbation ; but again disappointment

His Life and Works 17

awaited him. Rubinstein and Zaremba criticised the work with unsparing severity, and decided that it could not pass into the programme of the Musical Society. Zaremba objected chiefly to the second theme of the first movement, and although this was very satisfactory to the composer himself, he changed it, and made many other alterations in deference to the wish of his masters. Even then the work did not come up to their standard of excellence. Finally, by way of consolation, they agreed to give the two middle movements, but they met with no success. The symphony now exists in its original form, except for the unfortunate second theme, of which the composer could never again recall his first idea. This disappointment had the effect of detaching Tchaikovsky's sympathies from St. Petersburg. Henceforward he grew more and more reconciled to life in Moscow, and valued the appreciation he was beginning to meet with there.

II

In the winter of 1866-67 Tchaikovsky was engaged upon his first opera, The Voievoda. During a summer holiday to Hapsaal, on the coast of the Baltic, he wrote the pianoforte pieces Souvenir de Hapsaal (op. 2), of which No. 3, Chant sans paroles^ has become such a favourite. By the autumn of 1867 a considerable portion of The Voievoda was written, including the orchestral number, " Dances of the Serving Maids,'* which soon became very popular in Moscow. During that season Nicholas Rubinstein organised a concert in the Grand Theatre on behalf of the sufferers from the famine in Finland, and suggested that Tchaikovsky should conduct his own dances. This was his debut as a conductor, and Kashkin describes the anxiety he felt on his friend's behalf. Just before the ordeal Kashkin went behind the scenes of the theatre to see how Tchaikovsky was feeling. He said that, to his great surprise, he did not feel in the least nervous, and Kashkin returned to his seat. But when the new conductor

Tchaikovsky ; his Life and Works 1 9

actually found himself face to face with the vast audience, all his courage ebbed away. He com- pletely lost his head, and practically forgot to conduct at all. Fortunately the band were well acquainted with the '' Dances," and thus a fiasco was averted. For twenty years after this experience Tchaikovsky never took up the baton again. But then, circumstances having obliged him to conduct a few performances of his opera Cherevichek, he conquered his nervousness to a great extent, and became very fond of conducting his own works. In the early spring of 1868 the symphony, Winter Day Dreams — rejected in St. Petersburg — met with so warm a reception in Moscow that the composer must have been partially consoled for its first failure.

Tchaikovsky, who was on good terms with the heads of the theatrical administration in Moscow, had not much difficulty in getting The Voievoda accepted for performance at the Grand Theatre. In this matter he also had the assistance of Nicholas Rubinstein, by far the most influential person in the musical world of Moscow. But the troubles of the unfortunate composer only began with the acceptance of his work. At that time Italian opera reigned triumphant in Russia, while Russian opera played the part of Cinderella to her more splendid sister. Old scenery, cast-off dresses, second-rate artists, were considered good enough for National Opera. Russian composers were not even permitted the advantage of the full orchestra, which was reserved

20 Tchaikovsky

exclusively for Italian nights ; they had to put up with the small and inferior " ballet orchestra."

Merelli, the manager of the Italian company, rented the Grand Theatre about five nights a week, and was practically the master of the situation. At the rehearsals Tchaikovsky suffered a great deal. He was inexperienced, and does not seem to have distributed his parts judiciously, though the material at his command was, at the best, very unpromising.

Finocchi, who sang the part of the Voievoda, was a second-rate Italian singer, who had, moreover, the greatest difficulty in singing his part in the Russian language. Madame Menshikov, the soprano, who appeared as Maria Vasilievna, had a fine voice, but jio discipline. The singers were not unwilling, but their capabilities, as musicians, were of a very poor order. For example, the whole of the final quartet of one act had to be cut out, because one voice part contained triplets as against two equal notes in another, and this proved an insuperable difficulty to the performers.

Tchaikovsky's shy and sensitive disposition made it extremely painful to him to criticise or find fault with the singers. At the rehearsals, too, he began to discover, too late for alteration, many of his own mistakes of inexperience. He was in despair, says Kashkin, and only longed for the ordeal to be over. Nicholas Rubinstein twice attended the rehearsals, and went away angry with the composer's apparently supine amiability, which was really only the expression of a fatalistic resignation. The first performance of

His Life and Works 21

The Voievoda took place on 30th January 1869. It was given in all about ten times — not such a bad record for a national opera in those days. Kashkin, who has forgotten many of the details of the per- formance, thinks that the music, though not strong, was rather popular, and that the libretto, which was a kind of Italian opera travesty of Ostrovsky's fine work, was the poorest part of the work. After- wards Tchaikovsky burnt the score, partly perhaps from a feeling of disappointment, though no doubt the fact of his having incorporated some of the music into a new opera, The Oprichnik, would account for this destruction of The Voievoda. Twenty years later Arensky wrote an opera, A Dream on the Volga, upon the same subject. This work Tchai- kovsky admired very much, and valued more highly than his own immature effort.

The Voievoda was followed by a fantasia for orchestra, entitled Destiny {Fatum). Although the composer never revealed the fact, Kashkin thinks that some autobiographical interest attaches to this work. The following quotation from the poet Batioushkov served as a motto to " Destiny " : —

Thou knowest what the white-haired Melchisedek Said when he left this life : Man is born a slave ; A slave he dies. Will even Death reveal to him Why thus he laboured in this vale of tears, Why thus he suffered, wept, endured — then vanished ?

These words were suggested to Tchaikovsky as an appropriate epigraph after the completion of the

22 Tchaikovsky

work, but the public took them as a sort of pro- gramme, and sought in the music for some definite connection with the words. The fantasia was per- formed on 15th March 1869, with some success. Tchaikovsky afterwards destroyed the score of Destiny^ but as he was fully aware of the existence of all the orchestral parts, it may be presumed that a restoration of this work would not be altogether disrespectful to the wishes of the composer.

About this time he first made the acquaintance of Balakirev, the talented leader of the nationalist school. In 1867 Balakirev had succeeded Anton Rubinstein as conductor of the St. Petersburg Musical Society, and head of the Conservatoire. He took advantage of this position to forward the interests of the rising school of Russian composers, and among these he included Tchaikovsky. But these nationalist tendencies did not find favour with the committee of management, and he was compelled to resign both positions after a brief tenure of office. Tchaikovsky wrote a letter to the Sovrimenie Lietopis^ protesting with great indignation against the injustice done to Balakirev, and this led to a friendship between the two musicians. In the spring of 1869 Balakirev moved from St. Petersburg to Moscow, and the relations grew still more intimate. To Balakirev's suggestion Tchaikovsky owed the plan of his Romeo and Juliet overture. " This is always associated in my mind," writes M. Kashkin, "with the memory of a lovely day in May, with verdant forests and tall fir trees, among which we three were

His Life and Works 23

taking a walk. Balakirev understood, to a great extent, the nature of Tchaikovsky's genius, and knew that it was adequate to the subject he sug- gested. Evidently he himself was taken with the subject, for he explained all the details as vividly as though the work had been already written. The plan, adapted to sonato form, was as follows : First, an introduction of a religious character, representative of Friar Lawrence, followed by an Allegro in B minor (Balakirev suggested most of the tonalities), which was to depict the enmity between the Montagues and Capulets, the street brawl, etc. Then was to follow the love of Romeo and JuHet (second subject in D flat major), succeeded by the elaboration of both subjects. The so-called ' development ' — that is to say, the putting together of the various themes in various forms — passes over to what is called, in technical language, the 'recapitulation' — in which the first theme. Allegro, appears in its original form, and the love-theme (D flat major) now appears in D major, the whole ending with the death of the lovers. Balakirev spoke with such conviction that he at once kindled the ardour of the young composer, to whom such a theme was extremely well suited." Tchaikovsky returned from his holiday in September with the overture practically finished. He had put his heart into the work, which seems to throb with youthful passion and tenderness. His friends were enthusiastic over its beauties, and prophesied a great success. But an adverse fate seemed always to await the first performances of Tchaikovsky's works.

24 Tchaikovsky

Romeo and Juliet was given at one of the concerts of the Musical Society on 4th March 1870. It chanced that just at that time a student of the Conservatoire, resenting a reprimand which had been administered by the director, Nicholas Rubinstein, brought an action against him, and, owing to the absence of any legal code applying to the institution, won a technical victory. Public opinion was all in favour of Rubinstein, and when, on the evening of 4th March, he appeared upon the platform to conduct the new overture, he was received with the most frantic demonstration, while Tchaikovsky's music was completely forgotten in the excitement. The Romeo and Juliet overture was afterwards published by Bote and Bock, of Berlin, in 1871, and under- went many changes before it attained its present curtailed form, as seen in a second edition of the same published in 1881. Somewhere about this time, Tchaikovsky received the plot of a fantastic opera, entitled Mandragora. The composer seems to have been much attracted to the subject, and only relinquished it with great regret when M. Kashkin had convinced him of its being quite un- suited for operatic treatment. Only one number of Mandragora was ever heard in public, the '' Chorus of Insects," which was very popular, both in Moscow and St. Petersburg. It is highly melodious, and recalls in character Mendelssohn's music to A Mid- summer Nighfs Dream.

Now that the announcement of some of Tchai- kovsky's works is sufficient to draw a crowded and

His Life and Works 25

enthusiastic audience, it is pathetic to look back upon the constant series of disappointments which awaited him in his early days. Few composers have been more unlucky with their first works than this gentle and sensitive artist, possessed with an almost feminine craving for approval and encouragement. A certain hyper-sensitiveness to the criticism of his artistic schemes led to a characteristic reticence on the part of Tchaikovsky. Consequently few people ever heard of the creation and untimely end of his opera Undine. The idea was probably suggested by the ready-made libretto which Count Sollogoub had written for A. Th. Lvov as early as 1848, and which was republished in Smirdin's edition of this author's works. The opera was finished early in 1870, and sent to St. Petersburg for the approval of the Theatrical Direction. Once he had completed and posted the score, and thus practically burnt his boats, Tchaikovsky spoke of the opera to a few intimate friends and played them some numbers from the work. Undine was rejected unconditionally, and the score, mislaid by the carelessness of some official, whom Tchaikovsky was too good-natured to expose, was not returned to him until some years later, when he destroyed it. One air, " Undine's Song," afterwards appeared as Lei's air in his music to Ostrovsky's "Snow Maiden." He took the re- jection of^ his opera more philosophically than might be expected ; but his mind was already occupied with a new scheme — the opera which afterwards appeared as The Oprichnik,

26 Tchaikovsky

" Tchaikovsky," says Kashkin, " did not devote himself to the serious study of music until com- paratively late ; consequently he had not those definite and settled views upon music which seem a part of those who have grown up from childhood in a musical environment and have imbibed certain ideas and sympathies with life itself. He was obliged to acquire all this by means of hard work and the study of musical literature. As far as I can remember at that period (1870), he did not read orchestral scores with great ease, and preferred to make acquaintance with symphonic literature by the help of pianoforte arrangements for four hands, when I was often his partner at the piano. Of chamber music — especially string quartets — he knew very little at that time, and even the very character of this kind of music he appreciated with difficulty. The mere quality and timbre of the string quartet provoked in him nothing but weariness in those days, and he could hardly endure Beethoven's later quartets. He con- fessed to me once that he could scarcely keep awake in his seat through Beethoven's great A minor quartet. As to the combination of piano and stringed instruments, he admired many works of this class, especially those of Beethoven ; but said he could not imagine himself writing for such a com- bination of instruments." Before long, however, he greatly modified his opinion, and even set to work upon this particular form of composition. Tchai- kovsky was very anxious to spend the summer of 1 87 1 abroad, but had no funds at his disposal. At

His Life and Works 27

the suggestion of Nicholas Rubinstein, he resolved to give a concert for his own benefit and produce some new work. As everything had to be organised on a modest and economical scale, there was no possibility of engaging an orchestra, and Tchaikovsky was driven to write his first string quartet in D. The Andante of this work has an interesting history, showing how Tchaikovsky valued national airs, and the cleverness with which he made use of them on occasion.

For several mornings the composer was awakened by the singing of a plasterer working upon the house just below his window. The workman's song haunted Tchaikovsky, who wrote down the air, and afterwards, at dinner-time, he sought out the singer and asked him to sing the words. They proved uninteresting, indeed almost devoid of meaning, as is so often the case with the townsfolk's version of the peasant's songs. The melody in its original form appears as No. 14 in Rimsky-Korsakov's collection of " A Hundred National Russian Songs."

Tchaikovsky's first concert, though not a colossal success, realised a sufficient sum to allow of his carry- ing out his trip abroad. Among the audience was the great novelist Turgeniev, who seems to have been impressed by Tchaikovsky's genius.

In 1870, Tchaikovsky's circumstances having considerably improved, he moved — greatly to the regret of Nicholas Rubinstein — into lodgings of his own. His way of life, even then, was by no means luxurious. He kept but one servant, a young

2 8 Tchaikovsky

country fellow, whose culinary skill never advanced beyond an unvarying daily dish of cabbage-soup and groats. But the composer was not fastidious, and in his new home he found the absolute quiet so indispensable for his creative work.

** About this time," writes M. Kashkin, " Tchai- kovsky greatly admired a lady who sang in the Italian Opera Company. He was attracted by her talent as a singer, her ready wit, and brilliant con- versational powers. His friends believed that he had fallen in love with this fascinating artist, and rumour had already decided their future, when the opera company left Moscow for Warsaw. During their visit to the Polish capital a telegram arrived, announcing the unexpected news of her marriage to another member of the company. Tchaikovsky seemed more astonished than hurt ; but when, during the following season, the lady reappeared in Moscow, he was moved — even to tears — at the first sight of her upon the stage. Seven or eight years later I was present at an unexpected meeting between Tchaikovsky and this singer. He had gone to call upon Nicholas Rubinstein at the Conservatoire, but, on being told that he was engaged with a lady in his private room, we sat down in the ante-room to wait until the visitor should take her departure. Presently the door opened and the lady appeared. Tchaikovsky recognised her at a glance and sprang from his seat, turning very pale. The lady gave a little cry of alarm, and in her confusion began to fumble for the door of the half-lighted ante-room.

His Life and Works 29

Having found it, she fled without a word. Nicholas Rubinstein, who had followed her out, stood a silent and astonished spectator of this little scene.'* A year or two later Tchaikovsky met the lady once more, while travelling abroad, and resumed his friendly relations with her. He still admired her gifted and charming disposition, but his passion — if it ever existed, save in his own imagination — had quite worn itself out. At any rate, he assured M. Kashkin, his feelings at that time were purely platonic.

About the same time that he was engaged upon the opera Undine^ Tchaikovsky wrote his first songs: Six Songs (op. 6). These songs, though by no means the best that Tchaikovsky has written, are sufficiently characteristic to foreshadow most of his virtues and defects as a song-writer. There is no denying the extraordinary charm, the penetrating sweetness and melancholy, the vocal excellence of many of Tchai- kovsky's songs. At the same time, if we compare him in this respect with Schubert and Schumann, with Brahms and Franz, or with his fellow-country- men Dargomijsky and Balakirev, it is impossible to regard him as one of the greatest among song- writers. Nearly all his songs would be condemned if tried by the standard of formal perfection. His greatest weakness as a song-writer lies in the fact that he never realised the principle that, in the ideal song, music and poetry must meet upon an equal footing. " The union of the two arts," says Cui, " appeared to Tchaikovsky in the light of a mes-

30 Tchaikovsky

alliance for the one which he represented." Starting with this idea, that music is the only element of real importance in song, Tchaikovsky does not hesitate to mutilate the text of the greatest poets, to inter- polate such exclamations as " good heavens," " alas," " woe is me," and occasionally by a stroke of his arbitrary pen to turn fine verse into indifferent prose. Perhaps it was on account of his contempt for poetry as the " worser half" of music that he has set com- paratively few words by the great Russian poets, and prefers the effusions of such poetasters as Grekov and Sourikov. A fault which is common in Tchaikovsky's orchestral music is also noticeable in his songs. Not always very fastidious in his choice of musical ideas, he seems to find a difficulty in quitting them. He will develop, vary, and repeat an idea with a kind of mechanical skilfulness which becomes wearisome. He had not the qualities of terseness and concentration which go to the making of a perfect song. Another fault — though many may consider it an added fascination — in Tchai- kovsky's songs is the monotonous vein of sentimental melancholy. The great preponderance of the " tear- ful minor " in his songs suggests an unhealthy condition of mind. And I would point out this difference between Tchaikovsky's melancholy and that of his fellow-countrymen, of whom we may take Moussorgsky as a characteristic type : that in the first instance it is subjective, and sometimes artificial ; while in the second it is objective and called into being by the sufferings of others. It is just the

His Life and Works 31

difference between '* la belle melancholie," so assid- uously cultivated by Lamartine and his contem- poraries, and " la tristesse de la verite/' which shows so grimly in modern realism. But although these depreciative remarks apply to a large proportion of Tchaikovsky's songs, especially his early ones, there are a few which show the master-hand, many potentially fine songs in spite of their want of form, and many, again, which we would not have otherwise than they are — songs we cannot criticise when we hear them, because they take our feelings by storm.

In 1 87 1 the Society of the Friends of National Science celebrated the bicentenary of the birth of Peter the Great by what was called the Polytechnic Exhibition. For the opening ceremony Tchaikovsky was commissioned to write a cantata to an appropriate libretto by the poet Polonsky. The work was heard once, and then — with the exception of some material introduced later on into the Third Symphony — all trace of it wholly disappeared. Tchaikovsky during the next year or two was so deeply engaged upon his new works, especially The Oprichnik, that he com- pletely forgot this composition and took no steps to save it from oblivion. During the following year (1872) Tchaikovsky pubhshed his Harmony Primer, which has been adopted as one of the text-books at the Moscow Conservatoire.

During the rebuilding of the Little Theatre in 1873, all the companies — dramatic, operatic, and ballet — were obliged to take refuge on the boards

32 Tchaikovsky

of the Great Theatre. Under these conditions it occurred to M. Begichev, the inspector of the theatri- cal repertory, to utilise the services of the entire force in a kind of fairy play. Ostrovsky undertook the libretto, and chose for his subject the legend of the " Snow Queen " — Snegourotchka ; while the music was entrusted to Tchaikovsky. Both the author and the musician took immense pleasure in their task. The sudden waking of the Russian spring never failed to stir Tchaikovsky, and this season always found him in his most exalted poetical mood. The com- position of the music to this legend of springtide coincided with the coming of spring itself. In little more than three weeks the score was completed, in spite of the fact that Tchaikovsky was working twenty-seven hours a week at the Conservatoire. The first performance of The Snow Queen took place on nth May 1873, ^^^ although its interpretation was undertaken by the best artists, and no expense spared in the mounting of the piece, it was not a success. The lack of dramatic interest outweighed the charm of the music. Shortly after the production of The Snow Queen, Tchaikovsky, with M. Kashkin, Nicholas Rubinstein, and one or two of the leading artists taking part in the piece, made an excursion to Vorobiev's Hill, a favourite resort in the neighbour- hood of Moscow. " It was a lovely spring day,*' writes the author of the Reminiscences, *' and the gardens of the village of Vorobiev were white with a sheet of blossom. Under the influence of spring and The Snow Queen, we were all in a very happy

His Life and Works 33

mood. The peasants soon gathered round to watch * the quahty ' take their meal al fresco on the grass, and Nicholas Rubinstein arranged a real rustic feast, having bought for the peasants such sweets and wine as he could find in the village shops. Nicholas Rubinstein was very fond of genuine folk-music, and invited the peasants to sing. They needed no press- ing, and soon started their choral dances. This scene must have always remained in Tchaikovsky's mind, and it was resuscitated years later, when he wrote the variations in the Pianoforte Trio, dedicated to the memory of ' a great artist ' — Nicholas Rubin- stein."

The Snow Queen consists of an Introduction to the play, of several entr'actes and dances, and includes a few choruses and solo numbers. The music is fresh and melodious, though not always of a high quality. The Introduction and the second entr'acte are the most successful parts of the work. Berezovsky considers that in some parts T/ie Snow Queen shows that Tchaikovsky was very much influenced by Schumann at the time. Rimsky-Korsakov has also written a fairy opera to Ostrovsky's text, which, as regards imaginative treatment and national colouring, is superior to Tchaikovsky's work.

Some time during the early spring of 1874, Tchaikovsky finished his Second Quartet in F major, and it was privately performed at Nicholas Rubin- stein's rooms in the presence of his more illustrious brother Anton. This occasion may serve as an

D

34 Tchaikovsky

example of the inexplicable attitude of Anton Rubin- stein towards the compositions of his former pupil. *' I know," writes M. Kashkin, " that Rubinstein was very fond of Tchaikovsky as a man, and valued his talent very highly, but at the same time he took an almost hostile view of the majority of his composi- tions, especially the great ones. As a pianist he almost ignored Tchaikovsky's works. . . . The Qjiartet in F major was played before a very small audience ; besides the players Laut, Grijimal, Fitzen- hagen, and Herber — who, I believe, played second violin — there were present only Albrecht, Hubert, Anton Rubinstein, and myself. All the time the music went on, Rubinstein listened with a lowering, discontented expression, and at the end, with his usual brutal frankness, he said that it was not in the least in the style of chamber music ; that he himself could not understand the composition, etc. The audience as well as the players went into ecstasies ; but the one listener whose appreciation meant most to the composer obstinately stuck to his own opinion. One word from him would have been more valued than all other praise or success, but Tchaikovsky was not destined to hear that word, and he was evidently deeply hurt by Rubinstein's cutting remarks. It did not, however, shake his devotion to his former master. When, about a year later, he dedicated one of his piano pieces to Tchaikovsky, the latter was delighted, and replied by dedicating to Anton Rubinstein his Six Pieces on one Theme (op. 21) ; but he received no acknow-

His Life and Works 35

ledgment, and the great virtuoso never played one of these pieces in public."

From 1872 to 1876 Tchaikovsky acted as musical critic to the Sovremennaya Lietopis and the Russky Vestnik.

Ill

In 1872 the Conservatoires of Moscow and St. Peters- burg had the misfortune to lose their most influential patroness, the Grand Duchess Helena Paulovna. Shortly before her death she had requested her favourite composer, Serov, to write an opera upon the subject of Gogol's " Christmas Eve Revels," for which Polonsky prepared the libretto. But Serov, who was just then engaged upon his opera The Power of Evil ^ had only time to complete one number of the new work when death put an end to his labours, and he breathed his last only an hour later than his patroness the Grand Duchess. Out of respect to the memory of this remarkable woman, the directors of the Imperial Musical Society resolved to carry out her wishes respecting this opera, and a competition was organised for the best setting of Vakoula the Smith {Kouznetz Vakoula) ^2ls Polonsky 's libretto was entitled. Tchaikovsky had not hitherto been very success- ful in his operatic works, and he hesitated for some time to take part in this competition. Consequently,

Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 37

when at last he decided to do so, he was obliged to work very rapidly in order to finish the opera by August 1874. Seven works were sent in for approval, and both the first and second prizes were awarded to Tchaikovsky's composition. All his friends were interested in the new work, and, en- couraged by his success, Tchaikovsky, contrary to custom, volunteered to play through the whole score to a select audience of intimate friends. He was too nervous, however, to do justice to the work. *' The performer killed the composer," and the opera, rendered in a pointless and spiritless fashion, pro- duced an unfavourable impression which the audience could scarcely disguise. Afterwards, when the printed score appeared, his friends recognised with astonishment that Kouznetz Vakoula was one of Tchai- kovsky's strongest dramatic efl^orts. The work was first performed at the Marinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, in November 1876. It was sumptuously mounted, and the parts entrusted to picked artists. Even the small role of the Golova (headman of the village) was taken by Petrov, the renowned doyen of the Russian stage. Kouznetz Vakoula was received with enthusi- asm, but its success was ephemeral. The public had expected a light comic opera in the French style, and did not appreciate the national element in Tchaikovsky's music. It was given about seventeen times, and then disappeared from the repertory. The composer himself considered this opera one of his best works. Later on he remodelled it under the title of Cherevichek (" The Httle Shoes ").

38 Tchaikovsky

The year 1873 saw the production of two im- portant orchestral compositions : the Second Sym- phony in C minor, and the orchestral fantasia on the subject of Shakespeare's Tempest. Tchaikovsky's Second Symphony, which was written a year or two before the opera Vakoula the Smith, is one of the most interesting examples of purely Russian symphonic music, and has been aptly called the Little-Russian Symphony, because its first and last movements are based on Malo-Russian melodies. It may here be noted that the difference between the folk-music of the Great Russians and the Malo- Russians is as great as the difference in character between the two races ; consequently this symphony has a peculiar character of its own to which it owes its title, and not — as one critic has sapiently observed —to the fact that it is based on small Russian themes. The Second Symphony is perhaps the most dis- tinctively national of all Tchaikovsky's works. The first Allegro is preceded by an Introduction founded on a beautiful melody of an elegiac character which runs straight into the Allegro.. The first subject of this movement is a variant of the well-known air, " Down by Mother Volga." This is one of the songs associated with the Cossack robber Stenka Razin, whose "rebellious head" — as the ballad has it — was cut off in the Red Square, at Moscow, in 1671, and it is a great favourite among Russian students. The second movement, Andantino marciale, has one very interesting subject which the composer borrowed from the march in Undine, the unpublished opera of

His Life and Works 39

which he had destroyed the score. The Finale^ which is generally considered the best movement of the symphony, has two remarkable themes treated in variation form. The first of these is taken from the Little-Russian song called " The Crane " ; the second — a beautiful melody — is original. The symphony is full of vitahty, movement, and racy humour, and, according to Berezovsky, it shows in sentiment and workmanship a strong reflection of Glinka's influence. It was first performed in Moscow at a concert of the Russian Musical Society in 1873, and was received with great applause, but Tchaikovsky, who was easily discouraged when his own work was in question, was persuaded by some hypercritical friends to make great changes in the symphony before it was published. " I always preferred the original form," says Kashkin, " and fortunately it might be restored, at least for purposes of comparison, for the orchestral parts used at the first performance are still preserved in the library of the Moscow Conservatoire."

A work of a totally difl^erent character was the symphonic fantasia The Tempest^ composed during a month's holiday at a country house in the govern- ment of Tambov. It was written to a programme suggested by M. Vladimir Stassov, who has so often inspired the composers for the New Russian school with subjects for musical illustration. M. Stassov in one of his letters has given me the following account of its origin : —

*' In 1872 I was very intimate with Tchaikovsky, and in constant correspondence with him. As he

40 Tchaikovsky

had observed with pleasure the various subjects for overtures, operas, and symphonies which I had recently suggested to some of my friends among the Russian composers, he asked me to find him a suit- able subject for an overture. At first I refused, saying that for each individual composer one must only choose a theme completely in keeping with his nature and temperament, and that I did not feel that I knew his tastes and disposition well enough to undertake the task. However, he would not accept my refusal, and wrote me several letters, pressing me to yield, and saying that no one was more capable than myself of finding a subject which would fascinate him. I then gave in, and having tried him with several subjects — beginning with Scott's " Kenilworth," which did not please him much — I finally proposed Shake- speare's Tempest^ a subject I had been mad about ever since my young days. Tchaikovsky was delighted, and wrote me back a warm reply, saying nothing could have suited him better, that he was full of enthusiasm, and could think of nothing else. He accepted my programme in all its details, without the least change, and the work, he said, must and should be dedicated to no one but myself. Shortly after- wards all this was faithfully carried out."

Stassov's programme stands as follows : " The sea. Ariel, spirit of the air, raises a tempest in obedience to the will of the enchanter Prospero. Wreck of the vessel conveying Ferdinand. The enchanted island. The first shy awakening of love between Miranda and Ferdinand. Ariel. Caliban. The

His Life and Works 41

enamoured pair give themselves up to the magic of love. Prosper© divests himself of his powers of enchantment and quits the island. The sea." The subjects are fresh and poetical. The picture of the sea, both in storm and in undulating calm, is highly effective ; especially the chords for trombones in the lower register, which give a wonderful sense of strength and repose. The Ariel theme is very sprightly, and treated with appropriate lightness and grace. It is followed by a bold, rough figure, given out by celli and basses, which effectively symbolises the uncouth Caliban. Prospero's Leitmotifs which has almost a religious character, seems the least appropriate of all these characteristic themes. The most noticeable fault of the fantasia is one common to most of Tchaikovsky's works, namely the irritat- ing repetition of certain phrases which finally wearies the nerves of the hearer and ends in a temporary suspension of interest. The Tempest was performed at the Paris Exhibition in 1873, and was enthusi- astically received.

To this period belongs the Pianoforte Concerto in B fiat minor (op. 25). M. Kashkin gives an interest- ing account of the birth of this work. He writes : —

" Tchaikovsky, who had long had it in his mind to compose a pianoforte concerto for Nicholas Rubinstein, set about this work in the winter of 1874. The task proved a difficult one, because the invention of passages for the piano combined with orchestra did not come easily to him ; but he did not shrink from difficulties, and in February 1875

42 Tchaikovsky

the composition was quite ready. Tchaikovsky took the finished score to Nicholas Rubinstein, and on the title-page was inscribed the dedication to him. Tchaikovsky himself was very well satisfied with his composition, upon which he had worked hard and with zeal. The composer looked forward to the fullest approval, more especially as his friend and adviser always evinced the warmest interest in his compositions and his talent generally. This time it turned out very diiferently. Nicholas Rubinstein, it appeared, was disagreeably surprised that Tchaikovsky — not being a pianist — had not asked his advice about the piano part, and therefore he showed prejudice and hostility as regards this work. At the trial of the concerto N. A. Hubert and myself were the only auditors. Nicholas Rubinstein, who read admirably at sight, started the concerto, and began finding fault with everything, but especially with the piano technique. He played even with a certain intentional clumsiness, finding it all unsuitably written, too difficult, and finally declaring it altogether unplayable from this point of view, and in need of great alteration. N. A. Hubert did not pronounce a definite judg- ment, but seemed to agree with Rubinstein ; while Tchaikovsky was burning with anger against them both. Generally speaking, he had so great a respect for Nicholas Rubinstein as a pianist and musician that no doubt he would have agreed with him as to all the alterations if his criticisms had been made in a more conciliatory spirit ; but so harsh a judgment merely irritated him, and he resolved to publish the

His Life and Works , 43

concerto without altering a single note ; only the original dedication was struck out and replaced by one to Hans von Billow, whose acquaintance Tchaikovsky had made during the previous year. Von Billow was delighted with the concerto, as I saw from a letter of his to Tchaikovsky, which was shown to me ; and as he was just starting on a long concert tour in America, he included in his programme the work which had been dedicated to him. Thus it happened that Tchaikovsky's B flat minor Concerto was heard for the first time in Boston, U.S.A. Biilow sent Tchaikovsky a telegram announcing the brilliant success of his work. Of course this news gratified the composer ; but just then he happened to be very short of money, and it was not without some compunction that he spent it all in answering the message. In Moscow the con- certo was played for the first time by S. J. Taneiev, with great success ; and afterwards Nicholas Rubinstein actually learnt it, and his playing of it was such as one could hardly hear from any other artist. He had a particular success with it at the Russian concerts at the Paris Exhibition of 1878.'' Speaking of this work, Mr. C. A. Barry says : " That N. Rubinstein was not altogether over-severe in his strictures of Tchaikovsky's piano technique, appears from the fact that at a subsequent date Tchaikovsky thoroughly overhauled his work, and issued a new and revised edition of it in 1889, when it was found that the pianoforte part had, to a great extent, been rewritten."

IV

Tchaikovsky worked with untiring perseverance, but the occupation of teaching grew more distasteful to liim year by year. He dreamt of an ideal life in some quiet countri' place where he could give himself up entirely to composition. But he believed such an ideal existence to be, if not quite unattainable, at least very remote. The manner in which his dream was ultimately fulfilled reads like a fairy tale. In 1878 a lady, who preferred to keep her identity concealed, and who was not personally known to the composer, made it possible by her generous initiative for him to give up his classes at the Conservatoire and devote all his time to the creation of new works. Already in 1874 his improved means had permitted him to move from the small rooms in the Gudrinsky Place into a cosy flat, where he remained until his marriage in 1877.

In 1874 Tchaikovsky completed a new opera, The Oprichnik, in which he incorporated a good deal of musical material from The Voievoda and his

Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 45

symphonic poem Destiny. The Oprichnik is some- times translated by the somewhat misleading title of " The Lifeguardsman." The Oprichniks were a band of dissolute young noblemen, the chosen body- guard of Ivan the Terrible, who swore by fearful and unnatural oaths to carry out every command of the despot they served. Sometimes they masqueraded in the dress of monks, but they were in reality robbers and murderers, hated and feared by the people whom they oppressed. Andrew Morozov, the descendant of a noble but impoverished house, and the only son of the widowed Lady Morozova, is in love with the beautiful Natalia, daughter of Prince Jemchoujny. His poverty disqualifies him as a suitor. While desperately in need of money, Ahjlrew falls in with Basmanov, a young Oprichnik, who persuades him to join the community, telling him that an Oprichnik can always fill his own pockets. Andrew consents, and takes the customary oath of celibacy. Afterwards circumstances cause him to break his vow and marry Natalia against her father's wish. IVince Viazminsky, the leader of the Oprichniks, cherishes an old grudge against the family of Morozov, and works for Andrew's downfall. On his wedding-day he breaks in upon the feast with a message from the Tsar. Ivan the Terrible has heard of the bride's beauty, and desires her attendance at the royal apartments. Andrew, with gloomy forebodings in his heart, prepares to escort his bride, when Viazminsky, with a meaning smile, explains that the invitation is for the bride alone. Andrew refuses to let his wife go into the

46 Tchaikovsky

tyrant's presence unprotected. Viazmlnsky proclaims him a rebel and a traitor to his vows. Natalia is carried away by force, and the Oprichniks lead Andrew into the market-place to suffer the death- penalty at their hands. Meanwhile Lady Morozova, who had cast off her son when he became an Oprichnik, has softened towards him, and comes to seek him on his wedding-day. She enters the deserted hall where Viazminsky, alone, is gloating over the success of his intrigue. She inquires unsuspectingly for Andrew, and he leads her to the window. Horror-stricken, she witnesses the execution of her own son by his brother Oprichniks, and falls dead at the feet of her implacable enemy.

Tchaikovsky himself is answerable for the plot of the opera, and it would be difficult to find anything more tragic, even in the gloomy and blood-stained pages of mediaeval Russian history ; but it certainly offers great scope for dramatic development.

The opera opens with an overture in which all the leading motives and chief situations in the opera are more or less anticipated. The curtain rises upon the garden of Prince Jemchoujny's house, where he is discovered in earnest conversation with Mitkov, his daughter's accepted suitor. After they have left the stage, Natalia enters with her old nurse and a company of young girls, and there follows a charming chorus on a well-known Russian folk-song. Then the girls beg Natalia for a song, and she complies with a pretty, plaintive melody, very vocal, but without any marked originality. Next the Oprichniks come upon the

His Life and Works 47

scene, and their characteristic motive is heard in the orchestra. Basmanov meets Andrew Morozov, learns the secret of his depression, and offers to lend him some money, advising him at the same time to cast in his lot with theirs. The air " Come live among us," in which Basmanov seeks to entice the young man by promising him a life of adventure and full pockets in the future, seems quite inappropriate, being an elegant cantilena in the minor. After the solo, the orchestra has some bars illustrating the wild life of the Oprichniks. Andrew and Basmanov leave the garden together, and Natalia reappears, and, after a short recitative, sings a pretty air, "Ah, Furious Wind," quite Italian in character. The act ends with a second chorus of maidens, which makes an abrupt transition from the Italian to the national style.

The first scene of the second act takes place in the house of the Morozovs. The orchestra reflects the anxious forebodings with which Lady Morozova awaits her son's return. Then in an admirably characteristic recitative, which seems at once to distinguish her as the type of a high-minded religious woman, she expresses her faith in God and her resignation in all her misfortunes. Andrew now returns, and brings her the money Basmanov has given him. Lady Morozova refuses to touch what she knows to be the fruits of robbery and murder, and, in a long and touching scene, implores her son not to associate himself with the hated Oprichniks. Andrew, who is devoted to his mother, promises to obey her wishes. His solo in this act, " The White Snow," is one of the most successful.

48 Tchaikovsky

and at the same time national, numbers in the whole work.

The second scene takes us into the king's palace. It opens with a chorus {a capelld) of the Oprichniks, who, attired as monks, are seen issuing from the royal oratory. At a sacrilegious word from their leader they throw aside their monastic garb and reveal their rich robes beneath. Basmanov introduces Andrew to the community, and he takes their vow. The first sacrifice demanded of him is the complete renunciation of his mother and Natalia. The music which depicts Andrew's inward struggle before he consents to give up all for the sake of retrieving his fortunes is often full of poignant dramatic feeling. The effect is en- hanced by the gloomy chorus of the Oprichniks, which forms as it were the musical basis of the whole scene. Only, here again, Andrew's solo, with its occasional reminiscences of Rossini, seems out of keeping with the rest of the music.

The third act shows a square in Moscow. The townspeople are assembled, and in the opening chorus they bewail " that the times are evil." Then with an expression of almost fatalistic resignation and sub- missive piety, which is realistically characteristic of the Russian poor, they turn their lament into a touch- ing and beautiful prayer : Andante religioso^ " Thou, God, succour us." This scene is remarkably im- pressive. Lady Morozova now appears. She has suffered one more misfortune in the desertion of her son. She sings a pathetic recitative, " Now am I lonely." The children in the square catch sight of

His Life and Works 49

Lady Morozova, and hail her with insulting epithets — " Mother of an Oprichnik," etc. But the older people are sorry for her afflictions, which are even greater than their own. She is about to enter the church, when Natalia hastens in. She has fled from her father and her middle-aged lover, and implores Lady Morozova to succour her. Her father now arrives, and orders his rebellious daughter to return home. Natalia's reply is given in an aria, *' As before God, O father." Prince Jemchoujny will not relent, and orders his servants to carry off Natalia by force. His proceedings are interrupted by the arrival of the Oprichniks, awakening terror and hatred among the people. Andrew sees his mother and rushes to embrace her, while the sinister theme of the Oprichniks is heard reminding him of his vows. Lady Morozova turns from her son, disowns him, and solemnly curses him as an Oprichnik. The end of this scene is full of incident, and the music rises to a high level of dramatic interest.

The last act takes place in the king's palace. Andrew, unable to abandon Natalia to her fate, has determined to marry her in spite of his vows. The curtain draws up upon the wedding-feast, and some of the Oprichniks who are present sing a chorus in praise of the bride. The chorus is based upon a folk-song, and, though musically interesting, suffers from over-repetition. It is succeeded by national dances, for which also folk-songs are employed. The duet between Andrew and Natalia, "Ah, let the feast be ended soon," has two subjects, one of which

E

50 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works

Tchaikovsky transferred from his unpubHshed sym- phonic poem Destiny. I have already described the tragic ending of the opera. The curtain falls to a chorus of the Oprichniks, heard off the stage as they return from the execution of Andrew : " Hail, hail ! Like the glorious sun at midday art thou, our father and our Tsar."

The Oprichnik, though by no means a faultless work, was a great advance on Tchaikovsky's earlier operas. Undine and The Voievoda. The chief short- comings are a want of unity in the style of the music ; a lack of decision in the portrayal of many of the characters — Lady Morozova is quite the most con- vincing and real of all the dramatis personae ; an occasional want of connection between the music and the words, and perhaps, we must add, the unrelieved gloom of the libretto. In spite of all this the opera holds our attention. The music is always fluent, often very impressive, and, as might be expected from Tchaikovsky, it contains many beautiful melodies. It is not surprising, therefore, that The Oprichnik holds its own on the Russian stage. Its immediate success was sufficient to encourage Tchaikovsky to new efforts in the sphere of dramatic music.

In 1875 ^^ wrote a work in the same tonality as his pianoforte concerto — the Serenade Melancholique^ for violin and orchestra. It is based on two very interesting subjects : one of a melancholy nature, the other exceedingly passionate.

V

To the same year belongs his Third Symphony in D (op. 29), a work altogether different in style to his two earlier ones, and totally western in character. It has some emotional and intellectual affinity with the Schumann symphonies, but displays such brilli- ancy of orchestration as the German master never attained to. This symphony — which is exceedingly popular in Russia and abroad — has, in some mysteri- ous way, acquired the title of " The Polish." The label is as misleading as unauthorised labels generally are. Certainly the symphony ends with an Allegro — tempo di Folacca^ a very alien and artificial form of that genuine national dance, the polonaise ; but since the second movement is alia tedesca^ would it not be just as reasonable — and from internal evidence far more appropriate — to christen the symphony " The German '' } If there is not enough that is genuinely Polish in the musical material of the work to warrant the choice of this title, the idea that Tchaikovsky here poured out his sympathy for " Poland mourning

5 2 Tchaikovsky

in her oppression and rejoicing in her regeneration " is still more untenable. When we remember that Tchaikovsky was exceedingly Russian in his sym- pathies, and that as the writer of 1812^ the Marche Slave^ and the Triumphal Overture on the Danish Hymn, he may be regarded as the official composer of Russia, it seems quite incredible. One would as soon expect to find Mr. Rudyard Kipling writing an ode in praise of the Little Englanders, or Mr. Kensit a complimentary sonnet to the Pope. Berezovsky gives the following brief account of this symphony : " It consists of the customary four movements. The first opens with a magnificent funeral march, which leads to an allegro of a festal character, broadly planned. The second begins with a graceful valse alia tedesca, which afterwards gives place to an Andante elegiaco. This andante, for its depth of thought, its sincere and vital emotional qualities, is the best movement of the whole symphony, and one of the finest of musical conceptions. Here Tchaikovsky's genius is displayed in all its force, in all its varied character, and in the setting of his in- imitable technique. In comparison with the Andante, the third movement of the symphony — a Scherzo — loses a great deal. Here expression predominates over the contents, and leaves the impression of beauti- ful but uninspired music. The Finale is better than the Scherzo ; it is written throughout in the major, and the symphony ends as it were in dazzling sun- shine. Performed in Paris in 1876, and in New York in 1879, ^^^^ work had great success, and

His Life and Works 53

attracted the attention of Europe and America to its composer."

The year 1875 also saw the publication of four sets of songs, op. 16, 25, 27, and 28. The first set, op. 16, contains two of Tchaikovsky's best: the graceful "Slumber Song," and "A Modern Greek Song," founded on a Dies Irae of the Middle Ages, and treated with consummate skill. In op. 25 are "Reconciliation" and " Mignon's Song." Op. 27 contains, among others, two songs in mazurka form to words by Miczkievich, which are not very well known in England. Op. 28 is a very remarkable collection, containing " The Coral Necklace," one of his most dramatic songs; "Wherefore"; the charm- ing and characteristic "He loves me well"; and "The Dread Moment," an expression of wild, despairing passion.

In March 1875 Tchaikovsky's nerves broke down, and the doctors ordered him abroad, forbid- ding him to touch the piano or a sheet of music-paper. He followed these orders more strictly in the letter than in the spirit. Perhaps it would have been im- possible to check entirely the creative activity of his mind ; in any case, he returned with a new composi- tion complete in his brain, though not a note had been committed to paper. The violinist Laub died in the spring of 1875, ^^^ Tchaikovsky, who had the warmest admiration for his talent, honoured his memory by the E flat Qiuartet. The date upon the MS. of this quartet (in the possession of P. Jurgenson) is February 1876, but M. Kashkin

54 Tchaikovsky

seems to have no doubt as to its having been com- posed a year earlier. At this time the editor of the Nouvelist — a St. Petersburg magazine — commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short pieces, to appear monthly, under the general title of The Seasons. An amusing anecdote is told in connection with these pieces. Tchaikovsky, who was afraid of forgetting this little commission, told his servant — who was devoted to him — to remind him when the date came round for sending off a piece. The man never forgot, and every month he used to say to his master, " Peter Ilich, this is your day for sending to Petersburg." Tchaikovsky would go to his desk, dash off the composition, and dispatch it by the next post.

Opera was the species of composition that offered the greatest attraction to Tchaikovsky, and after that some orchestral work on a large scale, though now and then he would publish a series of songs, or " romances," as the Russians call them. Like most of his fellow-countrymen, he was, at that period of his life, a devotee of the ballet, and had long cherished the idea of producing something of this kind. The opportunity came at last when Begichev, stage- manager of the Grand Theatre at Moscow, proposed to Tchaikovsky to write a ballet. The latter agreed, but stipulated for a fantastic subject from the Age of Chivalry, and Begichev himself sketched out the plot for The Swmi Lake, for which Tchaikovsky consented to supply the music for 800 roubles — about j^ioo.. His ideal ballet in those days was

His Life and Works 55

Giselle, the joint production of Theophile Gautier and Adolphe Adam. The ballet was begun and finished in the summer of 1876, and the piano- forte score was arranged by M. Kashkin. At the request of the ballet-master, a national dance — quite out of keeping with the rest — was added to the work. The success of The Swan Lake, if not brilliant, was fairly lasting. It continued to be given until the scenery and dresses became shabby, when the author- ities did not take any steps to restore the mise en scene. The music, too, underwent a great many changes, being gradually replaced by airs from other ballets until only about a third of the original was left. Recently The Swan Lake has been very success- fully revived in St. Petersburg.

Two pieces of a more or less occasional character were produced in the course of 1876. The Triumphal Overture on the Danish National Hymn, was written for the visit of the Princess Dagmar to Moscow, and is on the whole superior to the general run of such works. A more interesting and inspired creation is the Marche Slave. The war between Turkey and Servia, in 1876, was the occasion of a great display of Slavonic enthusiasm. Nicholas Rubinstein organised a concert for the benefit of the wounded, for which Tchaikovsky, who was in full sympathy with the feelings of the hour, composed a march, first known as the " Russo-Servian," but after- wards as the "Slavonic March." It had a great success, being a stirring presentment of the emotions which just then were dominant in Russia, and in some

56 Tchaikovsky

measure it was prophetic of the triumph of the Slavonic cause.

Another great work belonging to this period is the third orchestral fantasia Francesca di Rimini^ which was originally conceived as an opera. The libretto was brought to Tchaikovsky by the author, K. I. Zvantsev, and the composer, who was well satisfied with it, was about to begin the work, when the librettist attempted to impose some impossible con- ditions. Zvantsev was an almost fanatical Wag- nerite, and insisted that his book should be treated according to Wagnerian principles ; but the Russian composer refused to relinquish his complete liberty of action, and the opera was consequently abandoned. His imagination, however, had been fired by the subject, and he could not refrain from using up his ideas in some different form. Tchaikovsky informed M. Kashkin that Dore's drawings for Dante's " Divine Comedy " had had a considerable influence upon his picture of " HelFs Whirlwind." If so, the painter's conception gained immensely in impressiveness and dignity by its reincarnation in the musician's mind. Tchaikovsky's realism is of a far more poetic quality than Dore's, and singularly free, in this instance, from mere sensationalism. Tchaikovsky prefaces his score with the following passages from Dante's "Inferno," Canto V. (Cary's translation) : —

" Dante, coming into the second circle of Hell, witnesses the punishment of carnal sinners, who are tossed about ceaselessly in the dark air by the most furious winds. Amongst these, he

His Life and Works 57

meets with Francesca of Rimini, who relates her

story : —

. . . No greater grief than to remember days Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly If thou art bent to know the primal root, From whence our love gat being, I will do As one who weeps and tells his tale. One day. For our delight we read of Lancelot, How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue Fled from our alter'd cheek. But at one point Alone we fell. When of that smile we read, The wished-for smile so rapturously kissed By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er From me shall separate, at once my lips All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day We read no more. Thus while one spirit spake, The other wailed so sorely, that heart-struck I, through compassion fainting, seem'd not far From death, and like a corse fell to the ground.

The two first movements of the fantasia — Andante lugubre and Fiu mosso — are clearly intended to illustrate the prose passages from the Argument. To the Allegro vivo which succeeds it is difficult to assign a definite connection with the text ; but with the clarinet cadenza at the close of this movement, and the lovely melody which follows it — a melody so entirely characteristic of Tchaikovsky's genius — we seem to hear the spirit-voice of Francesca herself, from which all the horrors of Hell have not taken the sweetness of human love and poignant memory.

58 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works

Immediately after the completion of Francesca di Rimini^ he made a rough sketch of his Fourth Sym- phony in F minor. But already a new conception possessed him, which for the time being drove all others from his mind — this was the idea of Eugene Oniegin.

VI

In May 1877, during the examinations at the Conservatoire, Tchaikovsky first confided to M. Kashkin his intention of writing an opera on the subject of Poushkin's celebrated " novel in verse," Eugene Oniegin. For the germ of this idea he was indebted to the celebrated Russian singer, Elizabeth Andrecona Lovrovsky. For several evenings in succession M. Kashkin and Tchaikovsky sat up half the night, in a private room of Taistov's Restaurant, trying to sketch out a feasible plot that should not depart too much from Poushkin's poem. The task proved almost beyond their powers, and finally Tchaikovsky declared that though he despaired of adapting Eugefie Oniegin for operatic purposes, he still felt impelled to write something on the subject, in order to use up the many ideas which had taken root in his mind. Feeling that his work might not be suitable for a big stage, he persuaded Nicholas Rubinstein to let it be performed by the pupils of the Conservatoire, and, happy in this assurance, he

6o Tchaikovsky

threw himself heart and soul into the new project, after securing the services of Shilovsky as collaborator in the libretto.

Probably no one was more astonished than Tchai- kovsky himself when he found that this work, from which he expected very little beyond personal satis- faction and a pretty operatic performance for the Conservatoire students, was destined to prove not only his most successful work, but — if we except Glinka's Life for the Tsar — the most popular opera in all Russia. The secret of this success lies partly in the subject itself, which is known to every reading man and woman in the land ; partly in the very melodious and accessible character of the music ; and partly, again, in the fact that in Eugene Oniegin Tchaikovsky had hit upon a subject which, though it did not call forth the very greatest that was in him, was, on the whole, pre-eminently suited to his genius, and especially to his melancholy lyricism. But though the opera is by far the most successful of Tchaikovsky's works, and in respect of popularity would soon become a rival to "The Pathetic" Symphony and Casse-Noisette Suile^ it is by no means his best. There are really great moments in The Oprichnik ; in Eugene Oniegin there are moments of extraordi- nary weakness and banality. But the former will interest the educated minority in spite of its faults ; while the latter will take **the great public" by storm, and be loved for these very weaknesses them- selves. There is a great affinity — in certain moods — between the genius of Poushkin and that of Tchai-

His Life and Works 6i

kovsky. Both had at times the gift of wearing their hearts on their sleeves in a very graceful, and not too unmanly, fashion. It is the gift of all others that has most attraction for the great public, who resent nothing so much as the failure to read the man in his work. The sentimentality, the false pathos, the Byronic cynicism o{ Eugene Oniegin^ would have been far less attractive but for the thinly -veiled auto- biographic interest of the story. As it is, probably every Russian youth has fancied himself an Oniegin or a Lensky ; every Russian girl has played at being Tatiana. And Tchaikovsky has attuned himself without difficulty to the subjective and sentimental mood of the poet, which was so often his own most characteristic temper of mind — though not his highest. The result in both cases is a work of almost unparalleled popularity.

The characters in the story offer several strongly- marked contrasts, of which Tchaikovsky has not availed himself in his musical presentment of them. The sisters, Tatiana and Olga, are two very different types of Russian girlhood. Tatiana is dreamy, sentimental, na'ive, without coquetry ; capable of folly for love's sake, but incapable of dishonour. Olga — as she appears in the book of the opera — is full of animal spirits, practical, and a reckless flirt. The girls belong to any period. The young men, on the contrary, seem essentially *' dated." Lensky, the sensitive, morbid, passionate youth, fresh from a German university, belongs to the Byronic period. So, too, does Oniegin, the cold-blooded, cultured.

62 Tchaikovsky

world-weary young rake, who works such havoc in the quiet home of the Lerins.

The opera opens with an Introduction founded on the dreamy, graceful subject which is Tatiana's Leitmotif. Later on we hear the subject of the duet between Tatiana and Oniegin, and then the music reverts to the first theme. " Thus," says Bere- zovsky, " the essence of the drama is revealed to us : a love episode in the life of a woman who remains essentially unchanged by the experience."

The opening scene shows the garden of the Lerins' country-house. Madame Lerin, seated under the trees, is busy preserving her fruit ; her daughters, Olga and Tatiana, are seen at the open window of the drawing-room. Their duet, " Hearest thou the Nightingale ? " is extremely pretty, in a delicate, senti- mental style that seems to carry us back to the days of " sensibility " and clear muslin frocks. After the duet comes a quartet, in which Madame Lerin and the old nurse Philipievna take part. Then the peasantry arrive on the scene, and there follows a chorus of harvesters, based on a very original theme, which is quite national in character. At Madame Lerin's invitation they start a choral dance. Mean- while the sisters come into the garden. Tatiana advances dreamily, book in hand. Olga rallies her sister on her romantic proclivities and sings her first solo, " I have no mind for languor or for sadness," the music of which is in complete contradiction to the words. Their neighbour Lensky, who is in love with Olga, now comes in, and begs permission to

His Life and Works 63

introduce his friend Eugene Oniegin. The young men wear high riding-boots and long black cloaks of Byronic fashion. When the young people are left alone, Oniegin entertains Tatiana in a somewhat colourless recitative. After these two have wandered into the garden, Lensky remains with Olga and sings his impassioned love-song, '* I love you, Olga." Throughout the entire opera Lensky's music has the most vitality, and is best suited to the character it portrays. Presently the old nurse is sent to an- nounce that tea is served. Her eyes, quickened by love, mark a subtle change in Tatiana. She guesses that her darhng has already lost her heart to " the young stranger." As the curtain falls the orchestra, in a few expressive bars, suggests the emotions newly awakened in Tatiana's heart.

In the second scene of the first act, we see Tatiana's room by moonlight. The nurse comes to remind her that it is bed-time. Then there follows a long, confidential recitative between them, while the orchestra carries on a soft accompaniment based upon Tatiana's Leitmotif. This scene, so exquisite in every detail — and recalling a similar scene in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet — is deservedly the most popular number in the whole opera. Tatiana's part is a musical chef-d'ceuvre^ and the nurse's tale, told to an air in the style of a Russian folk-song, is excellent. When the nurse has departed, Tatiana falls into a reverie, from which she rouses to sing her beautiful little song, " Nay, though I be undone," in which she tells her love of Oniegin. But how

64 Tchaikovsky

will he guess her secret, unless she reveals it herself ? Then she resolves to write a love-letter to him. Meanwhile the orchestra delicately indicates all the emotions through which Tatiana is passing. Her modesty, her maidenly misgivings, her despair, her ecstasy, and the final triumph of passionate first-love. When the nurse returns, the letter is finished, and Tatiana begs her to convey it to Oniegin. She hesitates, but cannot refuse anything to this child of her heart. As she reluctantly departs on her errand, Tatiana, seated at her writing-table, sinks once more into her dreamy mood, and the curtain falls to her characteristic motive.

. The third scene takes us back to the garden of the Lerins' house, and opens with a chorus, based on a folk-song, sung by the peasant girls, who have been gathering berries. As Tatiana enters, the orchestra depicts her ill-concealed agitation. She has not seen the young stranger since she sent her love-letter, and by morning light her conduct seems unmaidenly. Presently Oniegin enters. He cannot appreciate the directness and sweetness of Tatiana's nature. To his jaded mind this simple country -girl is insipid ; for he is of the type who finds the savour of love " not in the woman but the chace." He thanks her coldly for her letter, but assures her that he is not a marrying man ; and after off^ering her brotherly affection, gives her some half-cynical advice as to the need of more maidenly reserve in future. Finally he leaves her crushed with shame and the pain of a first disappointment.

His Life and Works 65

The fourth scene opens upon a brilliantly-lighted room in the Lerins' house. The guests are dressed in the quaint costumes and uniforms of the twenties. The ball is in honour of Tatiana's birthday. An old-fashioned slow valse is heard in the orchestra. Oniegin, whom Lensky has dragged to the ball against his will, stands apart from the guests in a mood of cynical boredom. He resolves to console himself by flirting with Olga, and carries her off to dance, leaving Lensky — who is now her accepted lover — fuming with jealousy and injured vanity. Oniegin's music in this scene is probably meant to illustrate his condition of mind, but it leaves an impression of weakness, as well as of coldness, which does not accord with his character. The compli- mentary couplets to Tatiana, sung to an old-fashioned French air by a typical Frenchman, Triquet, make a pleasant break in the continuous valse-rhythm which accompanies the first part of this scene. After Triquet's solo, the valse gives place to a mazurka, and Olga is again seen dancing and flirting with Oniegin. Lensky loses his self-control, and unwisely demands an explanation. Oniegin is coldly insolent, and Olga rebellious. Lensky first insults his friend, and then forces a challenge upon him. Oniegin now feels some qualms of conscience, but it is too late to retreat or apologise. He consents to go out with Lensky, and the party breaks up in consternation.

The fifth scene represents a winter landscape at dawn. The short orchestral prelude is founded on Lensky's JLeitmotif^ one of the most interesting

F

66 Tchaikovsky

subjects in the opera. While Lensky is awaiting Oniegin's arrival he sings his aria, " My days of youth, where have they fled ? '' which is one of the best and most characteristic of Tchaikovsky's inspira- tions. After the sincere pathos of Lensky's air, the conventional duel scene which follows seems rather poor and stagey.

Some years are supposed to elapse between the fifth and sixth scenes. The curtain rises upon a reception-room in a luxurious house in St. Petersburg. The guests are seen moving to and fro to the music of a brilliant polonaise. Apart from the rest, Oniegin stands in gloomy reflection. In a long and not very interesting recitative he tells of his remorse for Lensky's death, his wanderings in search of peace, and of his jaded spirit, which can find no satisfaction in love or folly. Meanwhile the ball goes on, and the guests are all awaiting the arrival of the acknowledged belle of society, the Princess Gremin. She proves to be Tatiana, grown into a gracious and stately woman of the world. Her husband. Prince Gremin, is a dignified nobleman, high in the diplomatic world, middle-aged, but handsome, and devoted to his beautiful young wife. Oniegin is astonished to recognise in this dazzling woman the girl whose love he had rejected. His chilly egoism is thawed, and he falls passionately in love.

The last scene takes place in the boudoir of Princess Gremin. She is reading a letter from Oniegin. Tatiana has been quietly happy with her elderly prince, but the sight of her first love has

His Life and Works 67

awakened her stronger emotions. His letter throws her into a state 'of agitation, and before she can recover her self-control, Oniegin bursts in upon her with a passionate declaration of love. In a long duet, in which emotion is kept at extreme tension, Oniegin implores her to have pity and to fly with him, while she struggles between honour and reawakened love. Finally, with a supreme effort she breaks away from him at the very moment when she has just confessed her true feeling. When the curtain falls, Oniegin, baffled and despairing, is left alone on the stage.

It would be easy to find fault with the opera of Eugene Oniegin, to point to the lack of musical development in the various characters, or to condemn the poverty of the libretto — which, except for a few of Poushkin's original verses — is very poor stuff indeed. But when all is said and done, we are obliged to agree with Berezovsky, that this opera " is like a woman with many faults of heart and character, but whom we love for her beauty in spite of them all."

VII

We have now reached the supreme crisis in the life of Tchaikovsky. At the time of the examinations in May 1877, M. Kashkin thinks the composer was already engaged to be married, although he kept this a secret from all his friends. Afterwards the staff of the Conservatoire dispersed for the summer vacation, and on M. Kashkin's return to Moscow in August, he was considerably surprised at meeting the newly-married couple at a party given in their honour by the Jurgensons. This was the sole occasion upon which M. Kashkin ever saw them together. Tchai- kovsky attended to his work at the Conservatoire with his usual regularity, but all his friends observed a change in him. He was reserved and absent-minded, and seemed anxious to avoid all intimate conversa- tion. One day he came to the Conservatoire looking strangely agitated. He said that he had been summoned to St. Petersburg by Napravnik, and took a hasty leave of his colleagues. A few days after- wards the news of his serious illness reached Moscow.

Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 69

At first the accounts were alarming, but they grew more reassuring after a time. Naturally his sudden departure gave cause for much gossip. Then, as time went on, Tchaikovsky's hasty marriage and its tragic consequences came to be looked upon as an amusing comedy by outsiders. Even his most intimate friends had very little clue to the mysterious catastrophe which seemed to have broken up his life. M. Kashkin, who knew his tender-heartedness and the almost feminine sensibility of his nature, was filled with the gravest apprehensions, which, as it afterwards proved, were not without some foundation. Tchaikovsky afterwards confessed that though he shrank from an act that would have brought public disgrace upon his relatives, he had tried in many ways to shake off the life which was at that time a burden to him, and had gone so far as to stand up to his chest in the river in the first sharp frost of a September night, in the hopes of literally catching his death of cold, and getting rid of his troubles without scandal. Evidently for a short time he was overwrought to the verge of insanity, and owed, perhaps, life and reason to the devoted care of his brother, who took him abroad as soon as his physical condition permitted him to travel. A very peaceful existence in the town of Clarens, on Lake Geneva, did much to restore his health, but his spirit was too bruised to recover quickly. After a short time he wrote to his friends in Moscow that he intended to return to his duties after a long rest, but neither M. Kashkin nor N. Rubinstein thought this at all

70 Tchaikovsky-

probable. Some extracts from his letters written at this time will best show his condition of mind during these months of adversity. To Albrecht he writes : " I shall remain abroad the rest of this year (1877), and return about the first of September next year. It is only in absence that one learns to know all the strength of one's affection for one's friends. Now I am living amid the wonderful scenery of Switzerland, and in a week I shall leave here for the still more wonderful beauty of Italy, but my heart belongs undividedly to my dear native land. ... I am greatly troubled to think that I have put the Con- servatoire to inconvenience by my absence . . . but better to be absent for a year than to disappear for ever. Had I stayed a day longer in Moscow, I must have lost my reason and drowned myself in the waves of that stinking — but beloved — Moskva river." To M. Kashkin he writes a little later as follows : "I love Moscow as being the dwelling-place of friends for whom now — in this time of separation — I realise the full strength of my attachment. Physi- cally I am not amiss. Like the old woman in Goburnov's tale, I am sound in one spot while I ache in another. On the whole I am robust ; but as regards my soul, there is a wound there that will never heal. I think I am homme jini. Of course I shall return to the Conservatoire on ist September 1878. As usual I shall take my harmony classes, and shall feel some pleasure in the proximity of my friends ; but what has been can never be again. Something is broken in me ; my wings are cut and I

His Life and Works 71

shall never fly very high again. Now I am working hard at Eugene Oniegin and my symphony, but I work at the instrumentation of them as though they were written by some one else. ... It would be too long to tell you all that has happened to me since we parted. My best time was in Clarens, where my brother and I lived very peacefully in absolute solitude amid majestic surroundings. Our going to Italy was pure folly. Her riches, her dazzling luxury, only made me irritable and worried me. I had no heart left to appreciate her great monuments, which left me cold and indifferent."

The stillness of Venice he found comparatively soothing. In Vienna he came once more in contact with his own art, and a little of the old spirit and interest returned to him. In Wagner's Walkyrie he took no pleasure ; ?.nd speaking of some new work by Brahms, he says that the enthusiasm it aroused among the German critics was incomprehensible to him.

From abroad he sent the first act of Eugene Oniegin^ and all his friends met to hear it at Rubin- stein's rooms. Taneiev played it through on the piano. *'The impression was wonderful," says M. Kashkin ; ''it fairly took our breath away." Even the critical Nicholas Rubinstein had nothing but praise for the new work. Each time it was played, new beauties revealed themselves, and the wonderful duet between Tatiana and her old nurse made a most favourable impression. Best of all, M. Kashkin felt that it augured happily for his friend's future. This was not the music of an " homme finiT By degrees

72 Tchaikovsky

the whole opera arrived, and then some uneasiness was felt as to whether the students of the Conserva- toire could possibly create such parts as Tatiana Lerin, Eugene Oniegin, and Vladimir Lensky ; but Tchaikovsky was contented to entrust his work to the students under such leaders as N. Rubinstein and Samarin, rather than let it take the chance of being spoilt by the routinier dulness of some theatrical conductor. Eugene Oniegin was finished by February 1878, too late for performance during that season, so the composer had to wait, though somewhat im- patiently, until the following winter.

In the spring of 1878 it was necessary to appoint some one to take charge of the department of Russian Music at the Paris Exhibition. Both David ov and N. Rubinstein agreed that Tchaikovsky would be a suitable representative. Tchaikovsky accepted the post, but when he discovered the duties it entailed he hastily resigned it. He had very little capacity for organising, and at that time was absolutely with- out experience as a conductor, so that his action was undoubtedly a wise one. But Rubinstein, who was a born fighter, and could not understand Tchaikovsky's depression of spirits, nor his shrinking from publicity, was offended at his withdrawal. He believed that he had hit upon a successful plan for curing what he chose to regard as a morbid feeling in Tchaikovsky, and, in a moment of irritation, he reproached him rather severely for his " idleness '* and unwillingness to undertake a useful office. This caused a passing coldness between the friends, which was happily soon

His Life and Works 73

forgotten. Nicholas Rubinstein ended by going to Paris himself, and he was careful that Tchaikovsky's works should take a prominent place in the pro- grammes of the Russian concerts.

While working at Eugene Oniegin, Tchaikovsky had also been engaged upon his Fourth Symphony^ of which he thought very highly, speaking of it as his best production. Both compositions were sent to Nicholas Rubinstein for performance in Moscow. Rubinstein was usually very successful in his inter- pretation of Tchaikovsky's music, but, either because his attention was too exclusively taken up with Eugene Oniegin, or because this symphony did not appeal to him so strongly as the others, the perform- ance at the Musical Society was slack and colourless. For some years the work was totally neglected, until its revival by Safonov, whose interpretation of it was far better than Rubinstein's.

The Fourth Symphony is remarkable for a display of humour somewhat rare in Tchaikovsky's music. Of all the Russian composers he seems the most deficient in this quality. He has not the keen appre- ciation of national humour which belongs to Glinka. Still less can he make himself one with the peasantry in their noisy revelry, or in their ''levity of despair" as Moussorgsky does. Tchaikovsky's humour, as we see it in the Casse- Noisette Suite, and other works of a lighter calibre, is always elegant and restrained ; elsewhere it is very fitful, and quickly overcast by the prevailing shadow of his melancholy. But in this symphony it flows more freely, which

74 Tchaikovsky

seems strange when we remember that he was work- ing at it during a time of great mental depression. Humour, of a gentle description, peeps out from the Andante^ and becomes more marked and lively in character in the Scherzo^ one of the most captivating movements Tchaikovsky ever wrote. This move- ment {Allegro — pizzicato ostinato) is a rare — if not unique — instance of a long symphonic movement in which the strings play pizzicato throughout. The Finale {allegro con fuoco) consists of variations upon the Russian folk-song, " In the fields there stood a birch-tree."

The years which followed immediately upon Tchaikovsky's great domestic trouble were very fertile in new compositions, and besides those already mentioned he wrote the music for the Liturgy of St. John of Chrysostom (1878), the Piano Sonata (1880), the Italian Capriccio and Serenade for Strings, the Overture 181 2, and two sets of songs — all bearing the dates 1879 and 1880. The Second Pianoforte Concerto also belongs to this period, a work which presents fewer technical difficulties than the first, but is still more showy in character.

During the last years of Glinka's life his mind was very much occupied with national church music, although his failing health did not permit him to realise any of the plans he had formed in connection with these studies. Tchaikovsky was also attracted by the study of Russian church music, but he wrote nothing new in this sphere of art. His object was the same as that of Lvov, who, a few years earlier.

His Life and Works 75

had set himself strenuously to oppose the Italian tendencies which had been introduced by Bortniansky and Berezovsky. In 1875 Tchaikovsky pubHshed A Short Course of Harmony adapted for the Study of Russian Church Music, which consisted of examples of special difficulties in reading. In 1878 his Liturgy of St. John of Chrysostom made its appearance : a service for four voices, in which he keeps rigorously to the old Russian church style, avoiding all western harmonies and forms which are foreign to its spirit. Of the fifteen numbers it contains, the Credo is the most remarkable. Berezovsky relates an amusing story connected with this work, which shows the lengths to which Russian officialism can sometimes be carried, even in matters quite unconnected with politics. According to a ukase of Alexander I., all sacred works had to be submitted to the approval of Bortniansky, the intendant of the Imperial Chapel. When Tchaikovsky wrote his Liturgy, Bortniansky had been in his grave for some years. Nevertheless the intendant at that time, Bakhmetiev, refused to take this circumstance into consideration, and con- fiscated Tchaikovsky's work, on the ground that it had never received Bortniansky's imprimatur. Only an order from the chief administration saved the Liturgy from destruction and permitted its publi- cation.

In the spring of 1878 Tchaikovsky returned from abroad, and spent the summer in the country with his relatives. At the close of August — true to his promise — he resumed his duties in Moscow, but not

76 Tchaikovsky

for long. Having enjoyed a whole year of freedom, and known the advantages of unlimited leisure for composition, teaching seemed more irksome than before. Fortunately circumstances now permitted him to resign his classes at the Conservatoire, and early in autumn he went for a short time to Paris. He was, just then, very much preoccupied with the subject of Joan of Arc, and wished to study all that French writers had written about their national heroine.

Meanwhile Eugene Oniegin was being studied by the students of the Moscow Conservatoire. " Never was any opera rehearsed with such zeal," says M. Kashkin. Samarin performed wonders in train- ing the pupils, and Nicholas Rubinstein succeeded in putting courage into the hearts of the young singers. A company of experienced artists might have been proud of the results thus achieved. The opera was to be given in March 1879. Tchaikovsky, who had complete confidence in Rubinstein, did not return to Moscow to superintend the rehearsals, but he was expected to be present at the first performance of the work. The actual day of the last rehearsal came, and still the composer had not made his appearance. " I was seated in the amphitheatre," writes M. Kashkin, " the whole theatre being in darkness except for a few candles in the orchestra. Presently I heard some one near to me groping about for a seat, and recognised Tchaikovsky's voice, though he spoke in a whisper. I whispered to him to come and sit near me, and when we met, the

His Life and Works 77

heartiness of our embrace caused some scandal in the darkened theatre ! '* All went smoothly, and the numerous chorus, composed entirely of fresh, young voices, had a wonderful effect. In the scene in which Tatiana writes her love-letter to Oniegin, Tchaikovsky was deeply affected. " How lucky it is dark here," he whispered to his friend, " for this touches me so that I can hardly keep back my tears." No subse- quent performance, says M. Kashkin, ever produced so great an impression upon him as this rehearsal. When Eugene Oniegin was first performed in the Little Theatre at Moscow, there was an unprece- dented crush, and among the audience were Laroche and Anton Rubinstein. The music was of too high an order to be appreciated at a first hearing, and Oniegin — like most of Tchaikovsky's works — did not take the audience by storm. Even the St. Petersburg critics spoke coldly of the work, and it was not until five years later that it was heard at the Marinsky Theatre in that town. Time, how- ever, increased its popularity, and when Jurgenson published the pianoforte score, it had an immense sale. Tchaikovsky himself was satisfied with his work, but did not consider it suitable for perform- ance in a large theatre.

From the year 1879 the relations between M. Kashkin and Tchaikovsky became naturally of a less intimate character. Their friendship remained un- changed, but now they only met occasionally, and both being hard workers, their correspondence was restricted to what was absolutely indispensable. The

7 8 Tchaikovsky

Maid of Orleans was written during the winter of 1879-80. It was not wanting in touches of genius, but it was far from being a success. Speaking of this opera a year later, Nicholas Rubinstein said that he considered it a retrograde step from such works as Vakoula and Eugene Oniegin. He believed that he saw in it a desire to win the public favour, and added that a mediocre talent might succeed in this respect, but Tchaikovsky — never. N. Rubinstein, in spite of his occasionally severe judgments upon Tchaikovsky, both as a man and a musician, worked with untiring energy for the advancement of his fame. Of Tchaikovsky's later works, he produced in Moscow the First Suite for Orchestra (op. 43), the Italian Capriccio and the Pianoforte Sonata (op. 37). With this last work he took immense pains, and it was long before he was sufficiently pleased with his own performance to play it in public. When at last he resolved to produce it at a concert of the Moscow Quartet Society, his rendering was so perfect in every respect that M. Kashkin, unwilling to hear anything more, left the hall and telegraphed in the most enthusiastic terms to Tchaikovsky, who was then living in the country. In the spring of 1880 Nicholas Rubinstein suggested to Tchaikovsky to compose a piece d* occasion for the consecration of the Temple of Christ in Moscow. Besides the church festival, Rubinstein wished to organise a musical one which should embody the history of the building of this temple, that is to say, the events of the year 1 8 1 2. Tchaikovsky's fantasia or overture was to be per-

His Life and Works 79

formed in the public square before the cathedral by a colossal orchestra, the big drums to be replaced by- salvos of artillery. The composition entitled The Tear 181 2 was finished at Kamenka in 1880, but M. Kashkin gives no account of this startling per- formance.

Tchaikovsky never regarded this work as one of his best, as we may see from his objections to having it performed in Berlin during his tour in 1888. But the overture has a certain picturesque brilliancy that raises it above the level of mere sensational music, and has made it very popular, especially in London. Berezovsky says it opens with the subject of a Russian hymn, " God preserve Thy people," and goes on to represent the Battle of Borodino, in which the Marseillaise mingles with the Russian national hymn amid the thunder of artillery. In using these subjects Tchaikovsky is guilty of a double anachronism ; for the Marseillaise was probably not in use in the French army as late as 18 12, while the Russian hymn was only composed by Lvov in 1863. The cleverest effect in the overture is produced by means of a peal of bells, which very fairly realises the weird sounds heard in the Kremlin on a Russian feast-day.

As to the merits of the opera Joan of Arc ^ there is considerable discrepancy of opinion. Some critics by no means judge it with the severity of Nicholas Rubin- stein. Having never seen this opera, I quote the following account of it, condensed from Berezovsky.

The Maid of Orleans — as it was finally named — was produced for the first time on 2 2nd February 1 880,

8o Tchaikovsky

for the benefit of the conductor of the St. Petersburg opera, Napravnik. The work suffers from a some- what poor libretto. At times, too, Tchaikovsky- seems to be under the influence of Wagner ; an influence which is very unsuitable to the particular quality of his genius. As regards the musical pre- sentment of the characters, this opera is far in advance of many others by the same composer. The roles of Joan, of the King, of Agnes Sorel and Dunois, are all admirably worked out. The remain- ing characters, such as Joan's parents, Lionel, and the Archbishop, are less developed, but as the interest does not depend upon them, this does not detract from the general eff^ect. But the most prominent jfeature of the opera is the orchestra, in which Tchaikovsky has centred the chief interest and beauty. He here uses it as the principal medium of expression ; sometimes giving life to the masses, sometimes depicting a spiritual condition. He is equally strong in subtile delineation of character and in broad decorative eff^ects, and in no other opera of Tchaikovsky's is the orchestra called upon to illustrate such depths of thought as in The Maid of Orleans.

The opera, which is in four acts, opens with an Introduction consisting of two movements. The first depicts the heroine of the opera ; the second is based on the subject of the chorus of angels, who appear to Joan in her visions, and ends with a cadenza for flute, in imitation of a shepherd's pipe. The first act takes place in Domremy, while Joan is still living with her parents. The scene of the fire in Domremy

His Life and Works 8i

is exceedingly dramatic. So, too, is the chorus of peasants, " O God, stay Thine anger," in which the anguish of the people in this time of calamity is finely expressed. Bertrand's recitative, describing the unhappy condition of France, is the best piece of declamation in the work, especially when sung with feeling. Joan's scene with the populace is somewhat diffuse. The scene ends with an ensemble^ " King, of power supreme." One of the best numbers in the act is Joan's farewell to her birthplace, which is full of that lyrical sentiment in which Tchaikovsky is always successful.

The angels now appear to Joan, and incite her to great deeds. This chorus, which is accompanied by harps and bells, is exceedingly melodious, and produces a weird effect. The incident of Joan's vision, " Ye host of angels " — the subject of which has already been heard in the Introduction — is a poetical inspira- tion. The orchestra describes Joan's condition of mind : a sort of mystical ecstasy leading on to inspired action. This scene closes the first act.

The entr'acte which precedes Act II. is not very striking from a musical point of view. The curtain rises upon a room in the palace of Charles VII., where the king is shown in the midst of frivolous gaiety. The beautiful subject of the minstrel's song recalls the style of a Malo-Russian melody. The gipsy dance is effective as regards orchestration, but lacks colour. The ballet which follows — a dance of pages and dwarfs, and a jester's dance — is not specially French in character, but it is splendidly orchestrated.

82 Tchaikovsky

In the duet between the king and " le brave Dunois " both characters are convincingly portrayed. We recognise the superficial, effeminate disposition of the former, and the contrasting energy and virility of the latter. Towards the close, the duet works up to an effective crescendo, and ends with an accompani- ment of drums in the orchestra. The subject of Agnes Sorel's air, " If strength be not given thee,'* is slightly Russian in style. The duet between Agnes and the king is also an excellent piece of character drawing. The orchestral music which announces the entrance of Joan is very impressive. Then follows a fine scene in which she is questioned by the king and relates her story, beginning, " Holy Father, I am called Joan." This tale is sincere, naive, and full of sentiment, and is the best number of this act. With the mention of the Holy Virgin, there is a passage in the orchestra for harps. Only a slight difFuseness spoils this narrative. The recitative which precedes the final ensemble is poor, but the ensemble itself is grandiose and effective.

The third act is divided into two scenes or tableaux. The introduction to the first represents a battle. The love -episode between Joan and Lionel is very weak. Lionel is altogether lacking in character, and Joan's recitative — in the Italian style — is not ex- pressive. The duet " Dread Powers " is the best part of the scene. The arrival of Dunois, whose personality is always well defined, offers a strong contrast to what has gone before. The second scene takes place at Rheims, and musically is the most

His Life and Works 83

eiFective in the whole opera. It opens with a Coronation March, repeated three times, and rather noisy as regards instrumentation. The duet (re- citative) between Joan's father and mother is rather long and monotonous. The father, deaf to his wife's admonitions and prayers, resolves to denounce his daughter before the king and the populace. The scene which follows is highly dramatic. The actual denunciation is preceded by a short chorus in march rhythm. Both the king's speech and that of Joan's father are characteristic. The accompaniments are somewhat heavy, but throughout the entire act the orchestra is very prominent. The Finale is on a grand scale, and if given without cuts, would be almost equal to one-fourth of the whole opera.

The fourth act is preceded by an orchestra] entr'acte, which illustrates Joan's mystical frame of mind. This instrumental piece reflects all that is best in Tchaikovsky's genius, and is one of the most successful things in the work. The first scene opens with a short recitative for Joan. Lionel then appears, and there follows a very fine love-scene, ending in a great du'et. In the middle of this duet the choir of angels is heard, reminding Joan of her duty and predicting her ruin. But love prevails. Joan does not heed the warning voices, and disaster is already at hand. The English soldiers break in upon the lovers, and after slaying Lionel, take Joan prisoner.

The last scene of the opera — Joan's execution — opens with a Funeral March, to the strains of which she is led to the market-place. In a beautiful

84 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works

recitative she commends her soul to heaven, and is answered by the choir of angels. The maid is then led to the stake, and a great chorus, with most expressive orchestral accompaniment, completes this opera, which, says Berezovsky, is one of the most brilliant creations of Tchaikovsky's genius.

1

VIII

In 1880 Nicholas Rubinstein's health was failing rapidly, but almost his last visit to the Conservatoire was made on behalf of his friend. He took a great interest in the Serenade (op. 48), and wishing to get a general idea of the work, ordered the parts to be copied, assembled the students' orchestra, and though he was too ill to stand at the conductor's desk, managed to go through the work in a sitting posture. Shortly after this he went to Paris, where he died on nth March 1881. The death of this great artist, and devoted friend, was a heavy blow to Tchaikovsky. During the following year he appears to have written only one work — the Pianoforte Trio in A minor ^ dedicated " to the memory of a great artist," and inscribed Roma^ Gennaio, 1882. The name of Rubinstein was not mentioned in the inscription, because Tchaikovsky desired less to honour his friend than the artist for whom he felt a boundless veneration. As Tchaikovsky had long cherished a prejudice against the combination of piano and

86 Tchaikovsky

stringed instruments, it is interesting to hear his own reasons, as given to M. Kashkin, for his choice on this occasion. In the first place, he said that he would not dream of writing anything in memory of so great a pianist in which the piano did not take a prominent part. Then, again, a concerto or fantasia seemed to him too extravagant and showy a form in which to embody his idea ; while the pianoforte alone seemed too monotonous and thin for the purpose. He decided, therefore, in favour of the trio. In the second movement of the work appear the variations in which are embodied Tchaikovsky's memories of Nicholas Rubinstein and his musical characteristics at various periods of his life. " It would be possible," says M. Kashkin, " to label each of these variations with an appropriate title ; but I prefer to do this elsewhere."

From 1882-83 Tchaikovsky was chiefly engaged upon the opera Mazeppa. The first performances of this work were fixed for almost the same night in both capitals, and Tchaikovsky chose to be present at Moscow rather than at St. Petersburg. All went exceedingly well, and the opera had even a brilliant success, but Tchaikovsky's nervous temperament made rehearsals and " first nights " a torture to him. Every one was pleased but the composer himself, who looked " like a condemned criminal," and seemed on the verge of an hysterical attack. The following evening his Second Suite for Orchestra was to be played for the first time at a concert of the Musical Society, but when the audience called loudly for the

His Life and Works 87

composer he was not forthcoming, being at that time half-way to Smolensk. Tchaikovsky, unable to endure another ovation, had fled from Moscow, leaving M. Kashkin to make his excuses to the conductor and the public. The libretto of Mazeppa^ taken from Poushkin's poem Poltava^ is the joint work of several collaborators, among them the well-known writer Bourenin. The librettists have evidently been anxious to keep as many episodes as possible from the original work, without reference to their fitness for scenic representation. The result is a series of gloomy pictures, prison scenes, executions, deaths, etc., which cannot fail to have a very depressing effect upon the audience. The music of Mazeppa is unequal, but, generally speaking, the instrumental parts of the opera are superior to the vocal. The style of the vocal portion is patchy, alternately Russian and Italian, sometimes a little German as regards the recitatives. The scene of the opera is laid chiefly in the Ukraine, and it is remark- able that Tchaikovsky has not been very successful in his use of local colour, for there is nothing dis- tinctively Malo-Russian about the songs and dances of the Cossacks in Mazeppa. The hero of the opera is not represented in romantic colours, but appears as an ambitious, sly, and treacherous soldier of fortune. This is Poushkin's presentment of the celebrated hetman of Cossacks, and no doubt, historically, it is the correct one.

The opera opens with an Introduction, and the curtain rises upon the estate of the Cossack chief.

8 8 Tchaikovsky

Kochoubey, a wealthy land - owner and judge. Kochoubey's daughter, Marie, is beloved by a young Cossack named Andrew, but she has lost her heart to the great hetman Mazeppa, who is much older than herself. Mazeppa is being entertained by Kochoubey. There is a characteristic chorus of Cossacks, followed by a local dance, the gopak. During the process of the dance, Mazeppa asks for Marie's hand, and is refused. This causes a breach between Kochoubey and the hetman. Marie clings to her lover, and finally goes off with him. In the second scene, which takes place in Kochoubey's house, every one is lamenting the departure of Marie. Her father is heartbroken. But her mother, with true Cossack sternness, bids her husband " cease this grieving,'' and urges him to action. Kochoubey and his followers decide to denounce Mazeppa to Peter the Great. Andrew is chosen to carry the accusation. The second act reveals the dungeons of the tower of Bielotserkovsky, where Kochoubey, who has been captured by Mazeppa, is languishing in chains and threatened with torture. The scene is exceedingly gloomy, and the actual preparations for the torturing of the prisoner are gruesome ; but from a musical point of view the scene has some fine moments. Berezovsky considers that this scene, together with Tatiana's scene in the second act of Eugene Oniegin^ are Tchaikovsky's chefs -d'ceuvre, and display his power of psychological analysis at its highest. The second scene of this act opens with a fine monologue for Mazeppa. It is first descriptive of the lovely.

His Life and Works 89

soft night of the Ukraine, and then of Mazeppa's inward agitation. OrHk, Mazeppa's follower, now comes in bearing the order for Kochoubey's execu- tion, which the hetman has treacherously secured. Presently Marie comes upon the scene. In the love-duet which follows, Mazeppa reveals something of the treachery at work in his mind, but Marie is absorbed in her love and suspects none of the plots against her father. When Mazeppa leaves her she sings a love-song, which is very Italian in character, but expresses her condition of mind. Her mother breaks in upon her and tells her of Mazeppa's cruelty and falseness towards her father. A military march is heard in the distance. It is Kochoubey being led to execution. The women hear it, and are overcome with despair.

The scene of the execution follows. A crowd has collected in the field, where a scaffold has been erected for Kochoubey and his companion Iskra. The whole scene is gloomy and unpleasantly realistic, especially the chorus of drunken Cossacks, **Ho, get along." The farewell of the condemned men to the populace and their prayer are very dramatic. The latter, says Berezovsky, is based on church tones. The loud chord in the orchestra which announces that the prisoners' heads have fallen is a piece of sensationalism which has its parallel in Richard Strauss's symphonic poem Till Eulenspiegel, where a hideous discord informs the audience that " the drop " has been rightly judged and *' death was instantaneous," as the reporters say.

go Tchaikovsky

Marie and her mother arrive at the foot of the scaffold too late to save Kochoubey or say a last farewell. The last scene is ushered in by a descrip- tive orchestral number entitled " The Battle of Poltava/' Two subjects are employed : one the melody of a national song, " Glory " (" Slavsia") ; the other a march of the period of Peter the Great. The action returns to Kochoubey's estate, now ruined and deserted. Andrew, who has been wandering in search of Mazeppa with the intention of killing him, comes back to the homestead. In the orchestra some phrases of the first duet, between Andrew and Marie, recall the happy days of prosperity before Mazeppa appeared on the scene. Presently the hetman and his follower Orlik come on. Andrew throws himself upon Mazeppa, but the latter draws his pistol and fires upon the young Cossack. Marie now appears. Her grief has unhinged her mind. She sings a duet with Mazeppa which is not particu- larly expressive, but the orchestral accompaniment, in which the theme of the love-duet in the second act is ingeniously brought in, supplements the dra- matic feeling and reminds us of her past love for the treacherous hetman. When Mazeppa and Orlik have gone away, abandoning the poor crazy girl to her fate, one of the most pathetic and dramatic scenes in the opera is enacted. Marie is now left alone with Andrew. Her duet with the dying Cossack is full of sentiment, but the supreme touch of pathos is felt when she unconsciously lulls her former lover into the sleep of death with her grace-

His Life and Works 91

ful, innocent slumber -song. The chorus of the people, with which the opera concludes, comes as an anticlimax after this very moving incident.

Tchaikovsky's Third Orchestral Suite was finished in July 1884, and during the second half of the summer, while on a visit to the beautiful estate of Plestcheevo, he began to work upon the fantasia for orchestra, Manfred. The subject had been suggested to him by Balakirev, but it did not suit his particular genius as well as Romeo and Juliet. He never seems to have been possessed by his subject, and the composition was only achieved by dint of strenuous efforts. " Manfred cost me a whole year of my life," he once said" to M. Kashkin ; and even in the opinion of his friend it does not compare at all favourably with Schumann's treatment of the same subject.

Manfred is described as '* a symphony in four scenes," and its programme is based on Byron's poem, with this difference, that Tchaikovsky's Manfred does not die a haughty but sublime rebel, like Byron's hero, but is finally reconciled to Heaven. The programme of the symphony stands as follows : —

First movement or scene. " Manfred wandering amid the Alpine heights. Worn out with fruitless questioning of Fate, torn by tortures of despair and the memory of his guilty past, he endures intolerable anguish of soul. Manfred has penetrated deeply into the mysteries of witchcraft, and associated with the powers of evil ; but neither they, nor any-

92 Tchaikovsky

thing else in the world, can give him the boon of forgetfulness which he is always vainly seeking and imploring. The remembrance of the dead Astarte, once so passionately loved, gnaws at his heart, and there is no limit or end to Manfred's despair." This movement affords great scope for varied emotional treatment. Manfred is alternately racked with anguish, or lost in the memory of his past love. Throughout the scene we hear the love- subject, detached like a shimmering streak of moonlight upon a black and fathomless pool.

The second scene may be considered in the light of a scherzo, and has the following title : '' The spirit of the Alps appears to Manfred in the rainbow over the waterfall." The third scene is described as '' A picture of the simple but prosperous life of the mountaineers." It is pastoral in character, but amid the joyous and peaceful strains of the shepherds' pipes we hear the sinister subject which represents Manfred.

The final tableau is entitled, " The subterranean palace of Arimane. Orgy of evil spirits. Manfred appears at the bacchanalian revels. The invocation and apparition of the spirit of Astarte. She predicts the end of his sufferings on earth. Manfred's death." The orgy is not particularly impressive. The subject is more suited to a Berlioz or a Mous- sorgsky than to the more delicate lyricism of Tchaikovsky. The death of Manfred brings a reference to the Dies Irae of the Greek Church. At the close of the movement there is a return to the

His Life and Works 93

first subject of the Finale in D (with organ accompani- ment). This probably represents the redemption of Manfred.

Composed at a somewhat later date than Manfred^ and allied to it, if not in musical structure at least as regards its psychological basis, is the fantasia-overture Hamlet. The music of Hamlet is chiefly based on three themes : the sombre one, appropriate to the hero ; a contrasting theme, pathetic and graceful, associated with Ophelia ; and one which has the char- acter of a march. The subject ought to have been congenial to Tchaikovsky's temperament, and yet it is impossible to look upon this work as one of his greatest successes. It seems as though he had set himself to realise too minutely the interminable agitations and misgivings which beset the prince. He has approached the play from the psychological rather than the dramatic side, and the result is a work of inordinate length, with few salient emotional crises and much that is vague and impossible to realise convincingly in music. That Hamlet exercised a fascination upon Tchaikovsky seems evident from the fact that before composing this fantasia-overture he had already written incidental music to the play, consisting in all of fifteen numbers. Of these the Overture, Elegy, three scenes for Ophelia, and the Gravedigger's Song are the most interesting.

IX

Tchaikovsky was now able to realise his ideal of a quiet life, spent chiefly in the country. In 1885 he took a house in the village of Maidanovo, not far from the little town of Klin. Maidanovo was a pretty village, close to a luxuriant park, with a good bathing-place and many rural attractions. It had, unfortunately, one supreme drawback. In summer- time the neighbouring houses were let to families from the city, who brought with them the inevitable piano, and soon the sounds of scales and exercises reached the unfortunate composer at his work. In consequence of this, Tchaikovsky moved into another house outside the park, enclosed in its own grounds and beyond reach of his neighbours' music. Here he would spend months together without visiting the town. His intimate friends were welcome at Maidanovo, but they respected the solitude of *' The Hermit of Klin," as they called him. From time to time, as a work was finished, or Tchaikovsky felt the need of a rest, he would invite a party of musical

Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 95

friends from Moscow for a night or two. M. Kashkin was often privileged to stay on by himself for a longer visit at Maidanovo. Very simple, strictly regulated, and calm was this country life. The two friends breakfasted at eight. At nine they separated for the morning, which was spent in work. At one o'clock came a simple, early dinner of two courses (Tchaikovsky kept a good man-cook, ^and could entertain his guests lavishly enough when he thought it necessary), and then followed a long country walk, which the composer never missed in any weather. Sometimes Tchaikovsky would announce at dinner his intention of going out alone, and then his friend understood that he was meditating some new creation, for many of his works were planned and his themes invented during these long solitary rambles across country. After tea he went back to his work until supper was served at eight o'clock. After supper the servant put a bottle of wine on the table, and was told that he was free until the next morning. " Left to ourselves we immediately went to the piano," writes M. Kashkin, " and began to play arrangements for four hands, of which Tchaikovsky had a large store. Often we played Brahms, whom he esteemed very highly for his seriousness and sincerity, and his contempt for superficial success ; but at the same time he had not much sympathy with his music, finding it cold and dry." Even after repeatedly playing Brahms's works his first impression was not greatly modified. Occasionally the occupation was varied by M. Kashkin's reading aloud some of

96 Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky's favourite Russian authors ; or the composer would write up his diary, of which he possessed many bound volumes, the contents of which were never revealed even to his closest friends. That it contained many intimate things as regards himself, besides the secrets of others, there can be no doubt. Once, he told M. Kashkin, he was spending the evening quite alone at his country house. As his eye fell upon the volumes of his diary he was assailed by a sudden terror lest he might die with no friends at hand, and that some one should pry into these life-secrets. Under the influence of this feeling, he immediately ordered his fire to be lit, and burnt every volume before he went to bed. There was much in it which he regretted, but on the whole he believed that he had acted wisely.

Tchaikovsky had very little idea of the value of money. On one occasion a friend inquired : *' Peter Ilich, where do you invest your capital ? " Tchai- kovsky stared at him in astonishment, and then burst out laughing. It had never occurred to him that there was any possible investment of capital otherwise than in personal expenditure and presents to friends. Breathless with laughter, he explained to his friend that his last investment of capital had been in the hotel where he had stayed at Moscow ; " and where my next investment may be, I am sure I cannot tell you at present."

In the country he spoilt all the peasant children by giving them coppers. Taneiev and Kashkin reproached him for this bad habit, saying that it

His Life and Works 97

demoralised the children, and using other virtuous arguments. The next time they went for a walk, Tchaikovsky resolved to make an heroic effort to escape from the youthful beggars whose morals were corrupted by his kopecks. They started for the bridge which crosses the river on the road to Klin. Tchaikovsky's hour for walking was known to every child in the neighbourhood, and feeling sure that he would be waylaid on leaving the park, he tried to deceive his persecutors. Leaving Taneiev and Kashkin on the path, he descended to the river-bank and crept under the thick sallow-bushes, while Taneiev, from the upper road, watched his furtive movements, and recited with mock pathos, " Behold the worthy fruits of evil- doing," etc. Tchaikovsky's innocent ruse availed him nothing. The children, who had studied the character of their victim to some purpose, had posted sentries in ambush, and by the time Tchaikovsky reached the bridge a party of boys were awaiting him. His friends came up just in time to hear the joyful laughter of the victorious enemy as they moved off laden with booty. Tchaikovsky, blushing with confusion, hastened to explain that he really could not help it, that he had given the children the merest trifle, etc. M. Kashkin did not quite believe in this extenuating circumstance. On one occasion Tchaikovsky had given away at least fourteen shillings in an afternoon's walk, and, in addition, had borrowed all that his friend had with him at the moment.

The chief works of 1886 and 1887 comprise an

H

98 Tchaikovsky

opera, Charoddika (*'The Sorceress"), Dumka^ a rural scene for orchestra, a number of songs, the Fourth Orchestral Suite (" Mozartiana "), a Pezzo Capriccioso for violoncello and orchestra, and the Fifth Symphony. It will be a matter of surprise to many to find that Berezovsky ranks the last-named work lower than the Fourth Symphony^ whereas in England many critics have pronounced it to be almost, if not quite, equal to " The Pathetic." But Berezovsky's account of the work, in spite of his critical judgment upon it, is so interesting that I give it here in full. " The Fifth Symphony^'' he writes, " is the weakest of all Tchaikovsky's symphonies ; nevertheless it is a striking work, and takes a prominent place not only among Tchaikovsky's compositions, but among Russian musical works in general. The symphony is divided into the usual four movements. The first — Andante, Allegro con anima — opens with an introduction in which we hear the exposition of the chief subject of the symphony. This subject runs like a dark thread through the whole tissue of the work. The introduction is conceived in that mood of sadness so common to Tchaikovsky. The Allegro has two subjects : one melancholy in character, the other full of brightness and vitality. Both are developed with much brilliance and animation. Then, suddenly, the chief subject reappears and the music grows sombre once more. As this theme dies away on the bassoons, the movement comes to an end. The second movement — Andante cantahile con alcuna licenza — takes the form of a romance.

His Life and Works 99

The subject given out by a solo horn passes over to the violoncello, and is afterwards assigned to the strings. Here again the chief theme of the symphony- breaks in in a fragmentary, almost unexpected, manner, casting momentary shadows over the radiant mood which pervades the movement. The third movement consists of a poetical, graceful valse. As in the preceding movement, the chief theme returns occasion- ally in a fitful way ; but later on, in the Finale, it is displayed in its fullest power. The introduction to the Finale — Andante maestoso — is entirely based upon it, and is penetrated with religious feeling. The Finale itself {^Allegro vivace^ grows gradually clearer as it proceeds, as though the heart had cast off a load of suffering and God's world shone out bright once more. An episode in the Finale has a subject which is quite Russian in character. The entire symphony seems to set forth some dark spiritual experience, some heavy condition of a mind torn by importunate memories which have poisoned existence. Only at the close the clouds lift, the sky clears, and we see the blue stretching pure and clear beyond."

When Tchaikovsky left Maidanovo, he moved to the old manor-house of Frovolo, which was also situated in the neighbourhood of Klin. Here Kashkin was an occasional visitor. On the comple- tion of his opera The Qjieen of Spades, the composer invited a large party of friends, chiefly from the Moscow Conservatoire, to hear the new work. The subject of the opera was borrowed from a tale by Poushkin, and a great part of it was composed

lOO Tchaikovsky

during a visit to Italy. On the occasion of the trial of The Queen of Spades at Frovolo, Siloti took the piano part. The libretto was prepared by the composer's brother, Modeste Ilich Tchaikovsky, and differs considerably from Poushkin's original story.

Herman, a needy young lieutenant, a moody hero of the Byronic school, falls in love with Lisa, a beautiful orphan who lives with her grandmother. The old Countess has been celebrated in her day as '' The Venus of Moscow," and equally noted as an inveterate card-player. Herman is also passionately fond of gaming, so much so that he hardly knows which fascinates him most — his love of Lisa or his love of the cards. Lisa is very much attracted by the young man's interesting melancholy, but she is affianced to Prince Yeletsky, a richer and more desirable match. Herman wishes to make a fortune at cards in order to win the woman of his heart. There is an ugly story to the effect that the Countess owes her luck at cards to some supernatural agency. Herman sets himself to fathom this mystery, but manages so clumsily that the old lady dies of fright without having revealed her secret. After death she revenges herself. Her ghost appears to Herman, and whispers the names of three cards which he imagines to be her lucky ones. On these cards he stakes his all, is ruined, and stabs himself.

The subject of The due en of Spades has some points ot resemblance with that of Eugene Oniegin^ but the music has not the freshness, the lyrical charm, or the pathos of Tchaikovsky's earlier opera. It was

Oh"

OO 2;

H

O

CO P^

<! cq

O S O

His Life and Works loi

originally written for another libretto, based upon Poushkin's story *'The Captain's Daughter''; but after working at this subject for some time, Tchai- kovsky, for some unexplained reason, changed his mind, and used up his material for The Queen of Spades,

Tchaikovsky's last effort in dramatic music was the one-act opera lolanthe^ on the subject of Herz's drama, " King Rene's Daughter." It is generally considered to be the weakest of his operatic works.

Very superior, in its own way, is the music of a ballet, in thirty numbers, The Sleeping Beauty, This charming new setting of an old story is one of Tchaikovsky's most delicate and graceful inspirations. The music, though not deeper than the subject demands, is melodious in the best sense of the word, fantastic, brightly coloured ; while it never descends to the commonplace level of the ordinary ballet music. Another work of this description which appeared in 1892 has won extraordinary popularity in this country — the Casse-Noisette. This was originally written as a fairy ballet in fifteen numbers, from which Tchaikovsky afterwards arranged the Suite which is so often heard at the Queen's Hall and elsewhere, and of which the English public never seems to have had enough.

Among Tchaikovsky's last works was the Sextet for Strings (''Souvenir de Florence"), dedicated to the St. Petersburg Chamber Music Society. M. Kashkin, who was staying with Tchaikovsky while he was engaged upon this, says that at first the

I o 2 Tchaikovsky

composer found it extremely difficult, but after a few days he declared he had quite solved the mysterious art of writing for this special combination of instru- ments— two violins, two alti, and two violoncellos. But the result showed that even a very experienced musician may sometimes fail to realise the effect of what he has put on paper. Kashkin writes : '' The first movement of the sextet, with its second theme — in character resembling a broad Italian cantilena — did not present any special difficulties, as it approached more nearly to symphonic form than to chamber music. In the remaining movements the composer endeavoured to keep strictly to chamber-music form, and had recourse to contrapuntal combinations, which gave each instrument its full independence and equality with the others." When the two musicians tried it on the piano for four hands they were delighted with the effect ; especially with the two fugues for six voices, which seemed to them entirely successful. Tchaikovsky determined to hear the work played by stringed instruments before sending it to the publisher, and despatched it to Albrecht, in Petersburg, to have the parts copied. Albrecht was very enthusiastic, and declared it would rank among the first works of its kind. For some time M. Kashkin heard no more of the sextet, and on inquiring what had become of it, Tchaikovsky informed him that at the trial much of it had proved quite impracticable, especially the fugues which had pleased them so much. The crossing of the parts with instruments of uniform timbre made it impossible

His Life and Works 103

to follow the independent movement of the voices in the counterpoint, and produced some very ugly harmonies. The sextet in its present amended form was not published until 1892.

To those who understood Tchaikovsky's sensitive shrinking from publicity, the alacrity with which, during the last years of his life, he accepted engage- ments to conduct his own works, was a problem beyond solution. According to his own account, he took no pleasure in conducting, and was always relieved when the task was over. When responsible for the works of others, Kashkin says his anxiety was so acute that his face wore " an expression of physical pain.'' His renown as a composer gave him some weight as a conductor, which he was unable to profit by to any great extent. On his tours abroad he was occasionally very successful with his own works, but he had not the temperament which finds pleasure in applause. There seems to be little doubt that many of his compositions suffered from his resolve to conduct the first performance of them himself. This was the case with his Fifth Symphony^ written in 1888, and published the following year. For some years after its first production the symphony was scarcely heard a second time, and Tchaikovsky was so discouraged by the coldness of the public and the critics that, had it not been already published, it would undoubtedly have shared the fate of his earlier works Undine and Fa turn. It was revived by Nikisch with brilliant success in 1895. ^^^ same cause — his rather easy-going and inanimate style of conduct-

I04 Tchaikovsky

ing — brought about the failure of his orchestral ballade The Voievoda^ which composition he actually did burn on the night of its first performance.

M. Kashkin gives an amusing account of the meeting between Brahms and Tchaikovsky at Ham- burg, where the latter had gone to conduct his Fifth Symphony. They had met two years earlier in Leipzig, but Brahms journeyed to Hamburg on purpose to hear the new symphony. After the concert he invited the Russian composer to dine with him, and after entertaining him most hospitably, he confided to him with quiet sincerity that he did not like the symphony at all. He spoke so simply that Tchaikovsky did not feel in the least hurt, only he was encouraged to speak out with the same uncom- promising sincerity his own convictions about the work of the great German master. They parted excellent friends ; but never had another opportunity of meeting.

Tchaikovsky, although he gave no impression of great physical strength, was wiry and not easily fatigued. He had lived simply, and hardened himself by taking outdoor exercise at all seasons of the year. Nevertheless, at fifty he began to show some signs of the troubles he had suffered and the hard mental work he had accomplished. He could no longer give himself up so entirely to composition ; he needed more rest and distraction, and unfortunately his sight began to be affected. He could no longer read with comfort, and thus he was deprived of one of his chief sources of occupation during the long

His Life and Works 105

evenings which he spent alone in his country house. He had left the manor-house of Frovolo and taken up his residence nearer to Klin itself. Four years before his death he was appointed one of the directors of the Moscow Musical Society, and considered it his duty to remain in the city during the concert season. But town life, with its constant succession of visitors, and other encroachments upon his time, was very distasteful to him, and he was relieved when his conscience allowed him to give up his rooms there and return to the solitude of Klin. That he preferred it to any other life seems beyond a doubt, but there is something rather pathetic in M. Kashkin's -picture of the "Hermit of Klin," touched — however lightly — with the infirmities of age and of a strenuous existence, sitting by his solitary fire, longing, as he sometimes said, "for my three rubbers" which he could not get, and consoling himself with a game of patience, or with the score of some new work which had awakened his interest. To have made friends with his neighbours would have been to surrender his complete liberty and lay himself open to interruption at inconvenient times. His art demanded the sacri- fice of the social life.

The Sixth Symphony^ to which, after its first per- formance, Tchaikovsky gave the title of " The Pathetic," was sketched out early in 1893, and finished a few months later, on his return from his last tour abroad. It bears the date of 3 1 st August 1893. The work is so well known, and has been so frequently analysed, that it is superfluous to go into

I o 6 Tchaikovsky

further details about it here. But a few words may be said as to the circumstances under which it was written, and the feelings that inspired it. Each of Tchaikovsky's symphonies has a definite colouring which shows the prevailing influence under which it was written. The Second shows us the composer still strongly dominated by national tendencies. The Third is tinctured throughout by his increasing eclec- ticism in general, and in particular by his newly awakened enthusiasm for Schumann. The Fourth is remarkable for its brighter qualities, and especially for its unwonted display of humour. The Fifth has touches of religious feeling which are absent from all the rest. In the Sixth, Tchaikovsky seems to have concentrated the brooding melancholy which is the most characteristic and recurrent of all his emotional phases. Throughout the whole of his music we are never far away from this shadow. Sometimes this mood seems real enough ; sometimes it strikes us as merely artificial and rhetorical. But melancholy in some form constitutes the peculiar quality of his genius, and nowhere does it brood more heavily or with more tragic intensity than in the last movement of this symphony.

There is no doubt that one of the reasons of the extraordinary popularity of this work lies in the fact that it has been invested with an autobiographical interest for which there is no real warranty. It is said that in some vague and mysterious way it fore- shadowed the composer's approaching end. Perhaps it is also with the idea of supporting this theory that

His Life and Works 107

sensationalists have discovered that Tchaikovsky shortly afterwards committed suicide. The idea is picturesque, but neither in Russia nor abroad have I discovered any substantial ground for the report. At the time of writing the Sixth Symphony, Tchaikovsky had passed through his dark hour and won his way back to the light. M. Kashkin distinctly explodes " the pathetic fallacy," if I may so far distort the meaning of Ruskin's phrase. He shows that the work was not composed under the influence of a morbid pre- occupation with death. Tchaikovsky had some idea of writing out the programme of the symphony, but never did so, chiefly because no sooner was it finished than he became absorbed in new plans, of which the remodelling of The Oprichnik was one. Had he done so, the world would not have found that the symphony was a kind of legacy to the living from one who was filled with a presentiment of his own approaching end. It seems, then, more reasonable to interpret both the overwhelming energy of the third movement, and the abysmal sorrow of the Finale, in the broader light of a national or historical signifi- cance, rather than to narrow them to the expression of an individual experience. If the last movement is intended to be predictive, it is surely of things vaster, and issues more fatal, than are contained in a mere personal apprehension of death. It speaks rather of a '' lamentation large et souffrance inconnue,'' and seems to set the seal of finality on all human hopes. Even if we eliminate the purely subjective interest, this autumnal inspiration of Tchaikovsky's,

io8 Tchaikovsky

in which we hear " the groundwhirl of the perished leaves of hope," still remains the most profoundly stirring of his works. Less artistically perfect than those glowing summer blossoms of his genius Romeo and Juliet and Francesca di Rimini^ the Sixth Sym- phony^ with its strange combination of the mediocre and the sublime, is profoundly human. Few works have awakened such an immediate echo in the heart of the public. It is interesting to know that he himself had no misgivings about the first three movements of the symphony, but thought it not improbable that, after its first performance in St. Petersburg, he might have to rewrite the Finale}

During the spring and summer of 1893 Kashkin and Tchaikovsky never met ; but on 7 th October the latter returned to Moscow, partly in order to attend the funeral of a very dear friend — Zoeriev. On the 9th, Tchaikovsky attended the Conservatoire to hear a vocal quartet of Mozart's for which he had written the words, and in the evening he invited M. Kashkin to dine with him at the Moscow Hotel. Pollini, the conductor of the Hamburg opera, and Safonov were of the party. During dinner the talk was of a business character, Pollini being anxious to make a tour through Russia with a German orchestra, engaging Tchaikovsky and Safonov as conductors.

^ I have the best authority for stating that this symphony was not specially commissioned by any musical society in Russia or abroad. Tchaikovsky had a great objection to composing to order, a custom which was not in agreement with his artistic views. The Sixth Symphony is dedicated to his favourite nephew M. V. Davidov.

His Life and Works 109

After dinner M. Kashkin was left alone with his friend. They had much to talk about after their long separation. Tchaikovsky told of his visit to Cambridge, when he received his doctor's degree, and spoke in kindly remembrance of the hospitality offered to him there, and particularly of the Professor who had taken him into his own house. He also spoke of Arrigo Boito, who had charmed him with his wit and culture. Then they took up a sadder theme — the death of their intimate friends, Albrecht and Zoeriev. Their particular circle was growing narrow. Who would be the next to go .'^ M. Kash- kin, half joking, said that Tchaikovsky would be the last ; and he answered in the same tone that it was not unlikely, for he had never felt better or happier in his life. Tchaikovsky had to catch the night mail to St. Petersburg, where he was going to conduct his Sixth Symphony^ and so the friends parted, without the least presentiment that it was for the last time.

There was a concert of the Musical Society fixed for 1 2th October, and Tchaikovsky intended to return to Moscow in time for it, and invited M. Kashkin to dine with him in the evening to meet the singer, Eugene Oudin. At the concert M. Kashkin looked for his friend, and he then heard, for the first time, that a telegram had been received announcing Tchaikovsky's illness, but stating that the danger was over. The telegram was hardly understood by his friends, who, not being sure of his address, decided to telegraph to the St. Petersburg

no Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works

Conservatoire. But it was Sunday, so the message lay unanswered until the next day, when the announce- ment of Tchaikovsky's death appeared in the Moscow Viedomosti. M. Kashkin at once left for St. Peters- burg, but there he learnt the sad circumstances of the case. Tchaikovsky had died of cholera ; the pre- parations for the funeral were made in haste, and he had not even the sad consolation of seeing his friend's face again.

M. Kashkin concludes his book with the following somewhat enigmatical passage, which probably refers to the unhappy circumstances of Tchaikovsky's marriage : —

*' I have now finished my reminiscences. Of course they might be supplemented by a few more events, but I shall add nothing at present, and perhaps I shall never do so. One document I shall leave in a sealed packet, and if thirty years hence it still has any interest for the world, the seal may be broken ; this packet I shall leave to the care of the Moscow Conservatoire. It will contain the history of one episode in Tchaikovsky's life upon which I have only touched in my book."

Upon this episode I am not able to throw any further light. When the authorised life and corre- spondence of the composer appears, his relatives may possibly clear up the mystery which surrounds it. On the other hand, it is more than probable that they will not take the public into their confidence upon a subject about which Tchaikovsky himself preserved an almost unbroken reticence.

TCHAIKOVSKY AS A MUSICAL CRITIC

There are certain books which owe their prestige more to the personality of their authors than to their intrinsic literary value. To this class belongs The Collected Writings of Tchaikovsky, edited, with a preface, by his friend and colleague G. A. Laroche. Such books, although devoted to special subjects, generally command a wide public. For though it may be true, as Tchaikovsky himself says, that great composers are rarely gifted with an infallible critical instinct, the majority will always pause to hear a great artist speaking of his own art rather than listen to the voice of the professional critic, prose he never so wisely.

Tchaikovsky's career as a musical writer was brief. He undertook the work rather from necessity than from inclination, and, regarding it as an un- welcome interruption in his busy, creative life, he gladly laid aside his pen when circumstances per- mitted him to do so. His literary legacy cannot be

112 Tchaikovsky

compared in importance and interest with those of Schumann, Liszt, or Berlioz. It is chiefly valuable because it throws a narrow shaft of light upon his personal tastes and the tendencies which influenced his music ; subjects which Tchaikovsky generally kept in modest obscurity. It is evident that his own ideal in criticism was something strictly impersonal and objective, " a system founded on rational and philosophical principles." But this kind of critical utterance is rarely associated with the subjective, creative temperament. Tchaikovsky, with all his reserve, cannot always hold up the mask of im- personality between himself and his readers. Thus, in what is often a dry record of musical events, we come upon oases of purely personal appreciation. And what positive good sense, what lucidity and soberness of judgment, what liberal-minded eclecticism we find in these pages! They are "appreciations" in the intellectual rather than the emotional sense ; for Tchaikovsky — to borrow a phrase from Mr. Hadow — never condescends to substitute mere auto- biography for criticism. We who in England know Tchaikovsky so well — so much too well — by his Sixth Symphony, are disposed to interpret the whole trend of his character by this one dark-toned work, which may reflect — for all we know — as much the tragic historical destinies of his country as the shadow of a purely personal sorrow. This work has now come to be regarded as the expression of Tchaikovsky's creed — or want of creed ; and, according to the more or less morbid temperament

As a Musical Critic 113

of its commentators, " The Pathetic " is made to represent him as something between a fallen angel weeping " ever through vasts forgotten of the sun," and a whimpering agnostic prig. For my part, I think we shall never appreciate the true greatness of Tchaikovsky until we have forgotten, for a time, the over-wrought emotion of the Sixth Symphony and the fascinating triviality of its musical antithesis, the Casse-Noisette Suite. Then perhaps we shall turn with pleasure to the wholesome vigour and dramatic interest of The Tempest; to the poetic sentiment, the intense passion, the poignant — but controlled — melancholy of Francesca di Rimini^ one of the most beautiful examples of programme music ever written; and the numerous other in- teresting works of his best and most robust period. Meanwhile it is good to see Tchaikovsky in a sober, business-like capacity, sane and clear-headed, exer- cising his critical faculties with a discretion and reserve that goes far to correct any false impressions of his extreme morbid subjectivity.

Tchaikovsky's first musical article, a message of consolation and encouragement to Rimsky-Korsakov, appeared in the Sovremennaya Lietopis in 1868. It was not, however, until 1872 that, yielding to the pressure of circumstances, he resolved to add to his income by regular journalistic work. During the next four years he wrote for the Moscow papers ; first for the Sovremennaya Lietopis and afterwards for the Russky Vestnik. In 1876, disgusted by the polemics which he considered had been unjustly

I

114 Tchaikovsky

fastened upon him, he resigned his post as musical critic. On the opening of the Bayreuth Theatre, how- ever, he was induced to act once more as correspondent for the Russky Vestnik^ and recorded in five long articles his impressions of the Nihelungen Ring. Twelve years later he again took up the pen and published, in a series of twelve articles, portions of a journal kept during his tour of 1888.

Tchaikovsky's journalistic work, says Laroche, " made no impression upon his subsequent develop- ment, and left hardly any visible trace upon his life." At the close of the sixties and during the seventies, Tchaikovsky's genius was abnormally active. One work after another took shape in his brain with a Jeverish and exhausting rapidity ; and to a man thus preoccupied by the things of the imagination the weekly letter to the Russky Vestnik was a tax. He was oppressed by an almost fateful realisation of the shortness of his working days. To him ars longa, vita hreviSy was no mere copybook phrase. He was haunted with a fear lest he should *' die with all his music in him," and more than once in his life he paid the penalty for his feverish activity in periods of enforced idleness and depression. The lust of finish- ing left its mark upon his work. " He wrote, wrote, wrote in haste," says Laroche, " using up bales or music paper ; not finishing his work at once, or rather — to be quite accurate — finishing it as regards externals, and conscientiously attending to technical details, but frequently in his eagerness losing sight of the plan and proportions of the whole. ' ' This accounts

As a Musical Critic 115

for the destruction of so many of his earlier works and the constant rewriting and modification of others.

The collected criticisms of Tchaikovsky must not be taken as more than a partial indication of his thoughts on music, for it will be evident that the concerts of the Musical Society at Moscow, and the performances at the Opera, gave only a limited field in which to express his views.

What, then, were Tchaikovsky's musical ideals in his youth and maturity, and how far did they influence his individual development ? He himself would have repudiated the use of the word "ideals." He had the positive Russian temperament that feels intensely, and instinctively avoids gush. Was it not a Russian who remarked that a piece of bread and cheese was worth all the poems of Poushkin put together ? In a similarly practical manner Tchaikovsky answered those who questioned him about his inner conscious- ness.

" What are your musical ideals ? " Serov's daughter inquired of Tchaikovsky as he sat at the piano during one of her father's musical evenings in Petersburg.

"My ideals .f^" he answered: "is it absolutely necessary to have ideals in music ? I have never given a thought to them." Then, after a few moments' reflection : "I never possessed any ideals."

To another lady who put the same question he replied : " My ideal is to become a good composer."

MOZART AND HAYDN

Tchaikovsky, says Laroche, was constant in his leading ideas, but very variable in the shades of his opinion. The chief deity of his musical Olympus was Mozart. In this he differed from the majority of his countrymen, who, preferring fire to light, and intensity of emotion to " sweet reasonable- ness," have rarely appreciated Mozart at his im- measurable worth. Glinka thought Don Juan " a fine opera, but not a model one." Tchaikovsky writes of it : —

" Every work of art, however much it may transcend the artistic level of the day and the society in which its author lived and moved, must still inevitably bear the stamp of its period. No matter how strong and profound the creative gift of an artist, he cannot escape certain characteristics, certain purely external peculiarities of form which, in the hands of second-rate talent, degenerate into mere tricks of routine and finally assume a sort of archaeological

Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 117

importance. Therefore it is not surprising that even in the loftiest spheres of art the works of human genius should grow obsolete. In the creations of Raphael, Shakespeare, and Mozart, despite all their depth of conception, we find certain external features which do not answer to the tastes of younger genera- tions. But it does not follow that the hand of time has power to touch the essential substance of a work of art ; and so — notwithstanding its eighty years — the opera of Don Juan^ in which are enshrined the powerful and incorruptible relics of Mozart's genius, is only old-fashioned as regards technical details. It awakes in us the same enthusiasm, it touches our feelings as effectively as in the days of our fathers and grandfathers before us. Compared with that of Berlioz, Mozart's orchestration is, of course, sHght ; his arias are somewhat diffuse, and sometimes err by pandering to the caprices and virtuosity of his singers. His style is laid out to please the affectations of the court-circle of his day. Nevertheless, all his operas, and Don Juan above all, are full of beauties of the highest order and of strong dramatic situations. His melody is wonderfully beautiful, his harmony rich and interesting. But Mozart was pre-eminently a master of dramatic music, and no other composer ever created such well-sustained or realistically conceived musical types as Don Juan, Donna Anna, Leporello, Zerlina, etc.

" As I have remarked, Mozart's weak side lies in his lengthy concert arias, which, purposely designed that the singer might show off his or her skill, are

1 1 8 Tchaikovsky

not invariably of great musical value. But in the concerted parts, in the scenes which depict dramatic movement, he has left us a long series of masterpieces. The scenes in which Donna Anna takes part are especially strong in this intense dramatic power. Her heart-rending cries over the body of her murdered father, her horror and thirst for vengeance when she meets the author of her misfortunes, all this is real- ised by Mozart with such convincing power that its effect can only be compared with some of Shake- speare's best scenes.

" I would point out as the best things in the opera the Finale of the first act ; the scene at the grave of the Commandant ; the sextet in the second act (when the rest of the characters mistake Leporello for Don Juan), so remarkable for its humorous contrast to the rest of the work ; and, finally, the last scene between Don Juan and the Statue.

" To what simple — I might almost say poor — means Mozart had recourse in this scene in order to express the horror of the impenitent libertine before this awful apparition ! Contemporary composers would have let loose upon us the full tornado of trom- bones, trumpets, cymbals, and drums ; whereas Mozart attains an infinitely stronger effect by the actual strength of his genius alone."

To this love for Mozart, Tchaikovsky remained faithful during his whole life. He studied the com- poser from every side of his genius, and left two memorials of his affection for him : his " Mozartiana " Suite for Orchestra (op. 6i), and the vocal quartet

As a Musical Critic 119

" Night," the music adapted from Mozart's Fantasia No. 4(1893).

A few days before his death Tchaikovsky con- ducted the dances from Idomeneo. " His admira- tion for the composer of The Magic Flute,'' says Laroche, " extended in a certain degree to his whole period, and he was dehghted with one of Sarti's operas." In his own opera La Dame de Pique, there is a scene which might almost pass for the work of a contemporary of Mozart. But it cannot be said that he paid his favourite the flattering homage of imitation. In spite of his consistent admiration for Mozart, Tchaikovsky's genius had nothing in common with him, and Laroche explains this attrac- tion by the theory of *' unlike to unlike."

For Haydn, Tchaikovsky had a sincere, if con- ventional respect, an4 a due sense of his importance in the historical development of music. He thought his music valuable for educational purposes, and declared that a Haydn quartet was preferable to many chamber works of the modern German school. In 1873 he writes : —

" I have a very high regard for the respectable and even great services rendered to music by this venerable man. Haydn has immortalised himself, if not by his inventive powers, at least by what he did towards perfecting those two ideal forms — the Sym- phony and the Sonata — afterwards carried to the utmost degree of beauty and finished workmanship by Mozart and Beethoven. Haydn is an indispensable link in the chain of symphonic music ; without him

I20 Tchaikovsky

Mozart and Beethoven could hardly have existed ; at least the development of these two dominant figures in the world of music would have been very different. They would have sprung from a less cultivated soil, and must have met with greater obstacles to the growth of their genius. But without in any way detracting from Haydn's invaluable services, we cannot fail to see that his inspiration did not soar very high ; that he never got beyond the * miniature ' and the * pretty,' and never once touches those secret heart-strings from which later composers have drawn such soul-stirring, deeply pathetic tunes. This is not a suitable place for entering into the historical con- ditions under which Haydn's genius was developed. Would he have shown more depth, more tragic force, more passion if he had been born at some other period ? Does not his music owe its artificial atmosphere of elegant coldness to the customs and surroundings in which he chanced to develop ? Is not this the reason why he has no power to move us deeply, to draw our tears or to carry us away by strong emotions ? May not this be the reason why he has survived from the last century with difficulty, through a period torn by doubt and exhausted by the irresponsible sufferings of the romantic school which followed him ? These deep and interesting questions may be discussed by lovers of musical aesthetics. I have said that Haydn belongs entirely to the sphere of the ' pretty ' in art. In all his symphonies you may find the same playful episodes, a sort of medley, or kaleidoscopic play of sounds which involuntarily charms the ear. By this

As a Musical Critic 121

I do not for a moment mean to suggest that Haydn should be irrevocably excluded from the concert- room. In Russia, especially, his works form a necessary stepping-stone by means of which we can lead on the mass of our public until it attains to the level of Beethoven and learns to appreciate him. Only it is desirable to contrast with his slightness and superficiality of form and idea some great work by one of the later masters."

II

HANDEL CHOPIN BEETHOVEN

Tchaikovsky did not share the revived interest in Bach which made itself felt in Russia, as elsewhere, towards the middle and close of the fifties, and spoke of his great choral works as " real classical bores " ; while Handel he found intolerable.

If his preference for Mozart, who is in many respects his musical antithesis, is somewhat unaccount- able, so, at first sight, his want of sympathy for Chopin has its element of mystery. For many years he felt no enthusiasm whatsoever for the works of the Polish master, and would only grudgingly admit that there was a certain '' charm " in the Barcarolle and the F minor Fantasia. Yet there is undoubtedly some affinity between Chopin and Tchaikovsky in tempera- ment and, in a much less degree, in style. Both have the tendency to alternate between profound melan- choly and fiery energy characteristic of the Slav ; both have the same rather morbid preference for the minor, the same chromatic colouring ; the same

Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 123

restless agitation in the middle parts. Tchaikovsky seems to have been aware of this likeness, and to have turned from Chopin as from a reflection of his own weaknesses. In later days, Nicholas Rubinstein partially converted Tchaikovsky from this prejudice against Chopin's works.

It is not easy to arrive at a clear view of Tchaikov- sky's attitude towards Beethoven. " Generally speak- ing,'' says Laroche, " he cherished a sentiment of veneration for Beethoven, quite distinct from the enthusiastic affection and true worship which he felt for Mozart." There are indications in his articles that he sometimes resented the general tendency to an indiscriminate Beethoven worship. But Tchaikov- sky is often so reserved in his writings, so averse from rashly running counter to opinions which have been consecrated by authority, that his views on Beethoven seem rather colourless. In conversation he was less reticent, but there seems always to have been an element of doubt as to his real feelings on this subject. " In 1867," writes Laroche, " I showed him a MS. (part of my article on Glinka) treating of the exaggerated fanaticism with which Beethoven was regarded. He then praised me for my manli- ness, in what certainly did not sound like empty phrases ; but when eighteen years later I developed the same idea in various articles, and at greater length, he showed himself very reserved, and merely remarked that I was unjust to the Finale of the Ninth Symphony.'' Tchaikovsky started life as a great admirer of Glinka, and, like all young Russian

124 Tchaikovsky

composers, was proud of the independent views upon Western art which were part of the master's legacy to the school he had founded. Glinka certainly venerated Beethoven, but just as he shocked all cultivated Russia by his criticisms of Bellini and other Italian idols of his day, so his disciples went a step further and scandalised a later generation of formal- ists by repudiating their obligation to traditions which their nation had in no way helped to build up. It may have begun as a rebellion ; it ended in the constitutional protest of a foreign - ridden people. Tchaikovsky was not a stranger to this movement ; but a period of eighteen years works changes in a malleable nature. In his maturity he grew more eclectic, more tolerant of tradition ; and it is easy to conceive that he mistrusted the two-edged blade of Laroche's criticism, which, while striking a blow at venerable traditions, was often equally hostile to the music of the New School. From numerous criticisms I have endeavoured to collect the passages about Beethoven in which the personal note seems to be of some value. In 1 8 7 1 I find the following para- graph : —

"I am not disposed to proclaim the infallibility of Beethoven's principles, and, without in any way denying his historical importance, I protest against the insincerity of an equal and indiscriminate lauda- tion of all his works. But undoubtedly in certain of his symphonies Beethoven reached a height to which scarcely any of his contemporaries could attain."

As a Musical Critic 125

In the list of Beethoven's " unrivalled works " he places the Eighth Symphony^ and a year after writing the above paragraph he drew the following compari- son between the Eighth and the Ninth Symphonies^ which is, I think, one of the most subjective of his criticisms : —

"Beethoven's Eighth Symphony is distinguished from its predecessors and from the one which followed it — the great Choral Symphony — by an unusual con- ciseness of form and by its unbroken joy fulness and festal character. It is the last bright smile, the last response given by the poet of human sorrow and hopeless despair to the voice of gladness. In the Ninth Symphony Beethoven concludes his colossal work by a Hymn to Joy, which represents the eternal and universal chorus of humanity, united in brotherly love and chanting in one voice an ecstatic dithy- rambus to Nature and the Creator. But such joy is not of this earth. It is something ideal and un- realisable ; it has nothing in common with this life, but is only a momentary aspiration of humanity to- wards the holiness which exists only in the world of art and beauty ; afterwards, this vale of earth, with its endless sorrow, its agony of doubt and unsatisfied hopes, seems still more gloomy and without issue. In the Ninth Symphony we hear the despairing cry of a great genius who, having irrevocably lost faith in happiness, escapes for a time into the world of unrealisable hopes, into the realm of broken-winged ideals. The Eighth Symphony, on the contrary, is filled with a spirit of serene content and un-

126 Tchaikovsky

restrained joy. It depicts the gentle earthly delights of humanity, before the soul is distracted by evil, doubt, and despair.

" Both subjects of the first movement are full of grace and elegance, their exposition is simple and concise, with a delicate accompaniment and trans- parent harmony. The second subject is exceedingly original by reason of its unexpected modulations and capricious changes of tonality. The second move- ment {Andante scherzandd) shares popular favour with the famous Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony. Its originality lies chiefly in the employment of the wind instruments which, contrary to the customary laws of instrumentation, are used by Beethoven as an accompaniment, while the violins keep up a lively — almost humorous — melody, and the basses reply heavily in a similar phrase. All this is unexpected, fresh, and piquant. The third movement, in the form and tempo of a minuet, recalls, by its style and by the unpretentious simplicity of its leading idea, the minuets of Haydn. In the Finale — one of Beethoven's symphonic chefs-d'ceuvre — we meet with an endless series of humorous and unexpected epi- sodes ; of contrasts in harmony, varied modulations, and ingenious orchestral efi^ects. I must indicate the striking unison effect of the whole orchestra on Cjf, which breaks in so unexpectedly upon the remote key of C major, just after the diminuendo where Beethoven recalls the first subject in different registers of the various instruments ; and again, the very humorous effect — twice repeated — which he gets by

As a Musical Critic 127

the combination of drums and bassoons on the note F, in succeeding octaves, struck at regular intervals, staccato. The Finale abounds in such interesting details."

His account of the Seventh Symphony seems also worth quoting : —

" Beethoven's Seventh Symphony^ thanks to its well-known Allegretto} is a great favourite with the public. Among the works of the great symphonist, this Allegretto plays something of the same part as what is known as the air favori in a popular opera. Very often such an air is only distinguished from the numbers that precede or follow it because the melody is more, vulgar, the harmony coarser and less poetical. To fine gradations of artistic colour- ing the majority is always bUnd. Bright tints, florid outlines, and strong colouring — effects which catch the eye — these alone can attract their attention. Tender half-tones, finished details, elegant roundness of form, all this escapes the notice of these un- fortunate victims of blindness. A long time must elapse before details, at first unobserved and mis- understood, begin to detach themselves from the background of the picture. The more a musical work becomes the property of the public, the more they begin to observe with astonishment all the beauties they failed to appreciate at first hearing. At the same time they grow disenchanted with their air favori^ discover that it is commonplace, and finally turn it into the streets, where it becomes the property 1 Tchaikovsky invariably speaks of this movement as an Andante,

12 8 Tchaikovsky

of the grateful organ-grinder who caters for a public that never outgrows the air favori.

" But there exist some rare compositions which possess the power of pleasing alike the educated and uneducated public. Their beauty is immutable ; the oftener we hear them the more we love them. Their power and originality is such that it is im- possible to analyse them ; but they can never become ephemeral because they are inaccessible to imitation and plagiarism. To this class of music belongs the Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony, which — for over sixty years — has been a fertile source of delight to the whole civilised world. The first and last movements of this wonderful work, which shine with the same radiance as when they astonished all Europe in 1812 — when Beethoven first took them from his portfolio — are not inferior to the Alle- gretto ; but the latter, I repeat, has the privilege of popularity, thanks partly to its fascinating melody and partly to material beauty of sound — its admir- able instrumentation.

"The first movement of the symphony opens with a broad, bold Introduction, and is remarkable for the gradual increase of interest with which Beet- hoven develops it, by means of what is known in technical terms as the ' elaboration ' of a simple, short theme of an energetic character. The orchestral effect at the opening of this Introduction is very original, and is frequently repeated in that which follows. The whole mass of instruments give out loud staccato chords from which is formed the theme

As a Musical Critic 129

of the Introduction, at first imperceptibly, but after- wards announced and sustained by the oboe. The first subject of the Allegro, a melody of a naive, pastoral character, served the purists of Beethoven's day as a pretext for accusing him of a want of dis- crimination in his choice of symphonic themes : as though an artist who painted the sublime in Alpine scenes or tempests at sea might not be equally successful in representing a simple rural landscape.

'' The rhythm of this theme, with its original accent on the third beat of the bar, is maintained with wonderful skill throughout the entire move- ment.-^ Modulations, modifications of the themes, strikingly new and bold harmonies, succeed each other with ever-increasing interest, but the funda- mental rhythm, which holds the first place, remains unchanged throughout. It is impossible to translate into words the astounding effect of this infinite variety in unity ; only a colossal genius such as Beethoven could bring such a task to a successful issue without wearying the attention of his audience, or allowing them for a moment to feel anything but pleasure in the importunate reiteration of the first rhythmic figure. Among other details of this wonderful work I would point out the stretto at the close of the first movement, where the bassi, 'ceUi, and alti repeat twenty times in succession a little two-bar phrase, while the higher registers of the orchestra move in a progressive development of the

1 I have printed this sentence as it appears in the Russian, but I consider third evidently a misprint iox first,

K

130 Tchaikovsky

tonic-chord. This original method of procedure, like the inaugural chord of the Introduction, has served as a model for numerous imitators, among them Berlioz, who makes use of a similar effect at the end of the first movement of his Romeo and Juliet symphony.

" The Allegretto consists of the development of a rhythmic figure unusually simple in conception, and this simple leading idea lends to the movement that undeniable charm to which it owes its great popularity. This figure is first heard in the lower registers, from the alti, 'celli, and bassi. When it passes to the violins, it becomes associated in the 'celli with a sad, complaining phrase of contrapuntal character in the minor. Gradually the leading subject grows and becomes more and more prominent, until at last it is given out by the full power of the orchestra. Afterwards follows a contrasting melody, serene and joyful, suggestive of hope in some as yet remote happiness. Meanwhile the original rhythm, like a whispered foreboding, a gloomy momento mori, is heard in the bassi. When the leading subject returns, it is completely transformed, and receives its final development in a fugato form. Then it dies away, to reappear in a fragmentary way as though it still had something to say, and finally ceases alto- gether on a vague chord. If we, after all these years, are still astonished by the novelty and fresh- ness, the power shown both in the design and exe- cution of this marvellous work, what must our forefathers have felt when Beethoven by the magic

As a Musical Critic 131

power of his genius first raised the curtain which hid this ideal world of eternal beauty and harmony from human eyes ?

"The Scherzo is full of life and joyous move- ment, and in the middle episode Beethoven gives it a character of triumphal, solemn joy. In this move- ment occurs another striking and novel effect — ex- ceedingly original for the period at which it was written — I refer to the pedal-point on the dominant, in contrast to the upper parts and the accent on the appoggiatura.

"If in contrast to the serious character of the Allegretto the Scherzo is remarkable for its joyful mood, the Finale is almost bacchanalian, and depicts a whole series of scenes replete with unconstrained gladness and contentment with life. Hearing this superb last movement, we do not know which to admire most : the creative imagination of Beethoven, or the perfection of form, his astounding skill in handling all musical means, both in the development of the themes and in the fulness and luxuriance of his orchestration."

Ill

SCHUMANN ITALIAN MUSIC BRAHMS

I HAVE said that in spite of his great love for Mozart, Tchaikovsky was not directly influenced by him, but as regards Schumann the case is com- pletely reversed. In 1862 he was already a student of Schumann's works, and constantly played the symphonies and overtures arranged for four hands with his friend Laroche. Tchaikovsky's opinion of Schumann was variable, and rarely rose to whole- hearted approbation ; but Schumann's influence is traceable throughout the whole of his career, though gradually weakening as time progressed. One of his earliest criticisms of Schumann is that of the Fourth Symphony^ in 1871 : —

" It may be said with truth that in the future history of the art the music of the second half of this century will be known to coming generations as * Schumannesque.' Schumann's music, which is organically allied to Beethoven's, while at the same time sharply differentiated from it, reveals a whole

Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 133

world of new musical forms, and touches heart-cords which have never yet vibrated at the bidding of his predecessors. In it we seem to catch an echo of those profound, mysterious stirrings of our spiritual life, of the doubt, the despair, the yearning towards the Ideal, which agitate the hearts of the men and women of to-day. History has not yet taken cognisance of Schumann ; only in the distant future will it be possible to make an objective critical evaluation of his work. But it is an undisputed fact that this composer is the brightest star among recent musicians; for hardly any good concert is now given which does not include at least one of Schumann's multitudinous works, in which his creative power is proportionate to his wonderful productive- ness.

"At a recent concert, given by the Musical Society, we heard Schumann's Fourth Symphony (D minor) and the little piece for piano. Abends, which, in spite of its brevity, is full of charm and true genius. I am even inclined to give the palm to this exquisitely poetical trifle rather than to the greater symphonic work. The Fourth Symphony is the last^ of the series, and at the same time the least in value. It has not that overwhelming power, that searching pathos, which strikes us in the first two symphonies. The sum-total of its beauties can- not unfortunately redeem that great fault which pre- vails in all works of Schumann, considered especially

^ It is really the second in order of production, a fact which Tchaikovsky seems to have overlooked.

134 Tchaikovsky

as a symphonic writer. This fault would be called by painters a lack of colour ; it is a pallor, a dry- ness — I may almost say harshness — of orchestra- tion. Without entering into technical details, I may explain to my readers that the art of instrumenta- tion {i.e. the distribution of a work among the various instruments) consists in understanding how to employ alternately the individual groups of in- struments ; how to blend them appropriately ; how to economise strong effects, and also in the intelligent use of colouring — that is to say, the application of timbre to musical ideas. This knowledge Schumann has not acquired. His orchestra works continuously ; all the instruments take part in the exposition and development of his ideas. They are not used in detachments ; there is no contrast between them (and contrasting effects are inexhaustible in orchestration) ; most of the time they mingle in a continuous roar, often spoiling the best parts of the work. As regards instrumentation, Schumann not only stands on a lower level than such masters as Berlioz, Men- delssohn, Meyerbeer, and Wagner, but he cannot even be compared with many second-rate composers who have borrowed his best inspirations."

Tchaikovsky regards Schumann's Second and Third Symphonies as the culminating points of his orchestral work ; especially the Second^ in which " the depth of thought, beauty of form, and breadth of plastic con- ception take us by surprise." But it is to the First Symphony that he has devoted the longest and most careful analysis, and for which he seems to feel a

As a Musical Critic 135

warm personal appreciation, which does not, however, disarm his critical attitude. Writing in the Russky Viedomosti in 1872, he says: — "Schumann's First Symphony was written in 1841, and was his earliest attempt in that species of composition. Beginning to compose at twenty, and having produced a number of fine pianoforte works and a quantity of songs, Schumann waited until his thirty-first year to approach orchestral music. The very fact that this master took up symphonic music so late seems to prove that he had no strong inclination towards the orchestra. A great connoisseur of all the qualities and most subtile resources of his favourite instrument — the piano — he is an inimitable master in the art of drawing out the rich, luxuriant sonority of this miniature orchestra. But apparently Schumann could never call forth the inexhaustible treasures of the modern orchestra. All his later works reveal his lack of a sense of colour, of genial design. He dis- dained colour, and preferred the pen and pencil to the brush. The most enthusiastic admirers of Schumann's music — which is invariably rich in in- vention and pale in colouration — are agreed that his orchestral works actually gain in being transcribed for the piano. Schumann had not the art of clothing his wealth of ideas in beautiful sounds ; his orchestra- tion is always opaque and heavy, and lacks brilliance and transparency. This characteristic negative feat- ure of Schumann's genius is not often present in his First Symphony, It is said that he wrote this work under the strong influence and personal guidance of

136 Tchaikovsky

Mendelssohn. The traces of this influence are not, however, apparent. Schumann, in his First Symphony^ with all its positive and negative qualities, shows more strength and capability and greater individuality than Mendelssohn. On the one hand, wealth of imagina- tion, simplicity of design, the plasticity of a Beet- hoven in its fundamental form ; on the other, a lack of colour, obscurity, and a disregard of attractive details in orchestration — this is what we find in Schumann's first essay in symphonic writing.

** The work opens with an Introduction in which the leading idea is announced in a slow tempo by a few of the brass instruments and is repeated by the whole orchestra. This is, as it were, the signal which heralds the sumptuous, motley pageant which unfolds itself as the work proceeds. The triumphant joy of the first subject gives place to an episode of a contrasting character which — in spite of all contrast — has a close connection with that which precedes it. It is evident that these are twin themes and originated simultaneously in Schumann's mind ; their union is not marred by that unsightly join which always shows in the works of inferior composers with their superficial habit of pasting their thoughts together. In working out this subject, Schumann, without departing from classical forms, as laid down by Mozart and Beethoven, introduces entirely new methods of procedure, and displays an independence completely free from the influence of the earlier masters. The whole of this first movement proves that new, romantic, and original ideas can be united

As a Musical Critic 137

to the established traditions of form ; it is, as it were, the link which connects the classical school, ending with Beethoven, to the new movement in which Schumann joined with Chopin and Berlioz. The rest of the symphony bears also the stamp of this eclecticism. In the Andante^ a beautiful melody of an elegiac character, accompanied by brilliant varia- tions, produces a fascinating effect, especially when it passes to the 'celli in the key of the subdominant. In the third movement, the rhythm of which recalls a minuet rather than a scherzo such as we find in Beet- hoven's symphonies, the first trio is specially remark- able for the ingenious chords which seem to call to each other alternately from the string and wind instru- ments, and also for its concluding coda with its rushing syncopated rhythm and highly original harmony. The Finale^ bold, briUiant, and finished in form, rich in beauti- ful modulations and in varied rhythm and harmony, serves as an admirable close to this exquisite work."

Another interesting example of Tchaikovsky's views upon Schumann is the following account of the Pianoforte duintet (op. 44) : —

*' It is a fact that Schumann, with his colossal creative gifts, yet lacked the particular instinct which might have enabled him to express his thoughts through the medium of orchestral or chamber music. In this he resembled Chopin, the pianist composer par excellence. ... In spite of the luxuriant beauty scattered throughout his symphonic works, as regards form, structure, and finish, the first place must be given to Schumann's purely pianoforte works and to

138 Tchaikovsky

the chamber music in which the piano plays the chief part. To this class belongs the fine Qjiintet in E flat. " The first movement is based on two very simple but striking and beautiful subjects, of contrasting character. The Andante^ in the style and rhythm of a funeral march, depicts on a small scale a whole sombre tragedy. After the exposition of the wonderful leading subject, Schumann passes on to tributary ideas which have a solemn religious colour- ing, and seem to express faith and self-renunciation, a gentle submission to Providence, and a willingness to bow before the inevitable decrees of Fate. Then the gloomy theme of the funeral march returns, to be suddenly interrupted by a stormy episode which echoes the voice of a passionate soul agitated and rebellious at the tragic loss of some beloved being. But the notes of the funeral march break once more upon this music, like the lamentations of a broken heart. Gradually, a tender rehgious sentiment con- quers all other emotions ; the agitated spirit grows calm, and strives to become reconciled to the oppression of earthly life by looking forward to the beauty of heaven. The Andante comes to an ethereal close on the transparent major tonic chord, given out in harmonics by violins and viola in their highest flute-like register. The Scherzo is full of virile energy and inspired impetuosity. The Finale carries the listener back to the joyous mood of the first movement ; and here, by starting the leading subjects of the first and last movements on * pedal- points,' Schumann displays his inimitable technical

As a Musical Critic 139

skill in the polyphonic development of his themes. This is one of the inexplicable musical phenomena of genius before which musical specialists can only bow down in respect."

In his youth Tchaikovsky was a devotee of Italian opera, especially of Rossini's more serious works, Semir amide y Otello^ and Tell. His appreciation of the Barber of Seville was of later growth. Tchaikov- sky, though rarely stooping to direct imitation, was extremely susceptible to external influences. Italian opera was, moreover, associated in his case with a love episode which — though ephemeral in character — left a lingering sentimental impression in his memory. For Donizetti he felt no sympathy, but comparatively late in life — when the current of fashion had set in quite other directions — Tchaikovsky began to value the works of Bellini. But it was the glamour and warmth of the South, so forcibly expressed by Rossini's brilHant dramatic power, which exercised the strongest fascination for the Russian composer. He shared with the Italian school the cult of graceful and sensuous melody, and was strongly influenced by Rossini in this respect. We cannot doubt it, when we recall, for instance, some of the solos in his opera The Oprichnik^ or the second subject of the first movement of the Sixth Symphony, The lovely things of art are preserved to reappear in unexpected disguises, and just as the gracious beauty of Italian melody seemed doomed to pass away under a new dispensation, it was reincarnated in the works of this northern composer. Such cases of musical

140 Tchaikovsky

atavism are by no means rare, and would make an interesting study in themselves. Tchaikovsky's views on Italian music, written at a time when all critics who wished to be taken seriously were con- demning Italian opera, in the words of Dr. Johnson, as "an exotic and irrational entertainment," were admirable in their tone of unbiassed reserve. His attitude was that of negative rather than of positive defence. He refused to exalt Wagner and Schumann at the expense of Rossini and Meyerbeer, and succeeds in keeping an open mind and an individual opinion throughout the period of heated polemics during which he acted as a musical critic.

The note of decision which is sometimes lacking in Tchaikovsky's defence of Italian opera is fully heard, however, on the question of classical music, in the narrower sense of the word — that is to say, the great period at the close of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries. While he gives Schumann one of the highest places in